


Responsibility of Divinity

by Danyphestation



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon and Non Canon Elements, Demon possession, Divinity original sin 2 - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Multi, Multiple Relationships, Novelization, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danyphestation/pseuds/Danyphestation
Summary: Only one can claim Divinity. Nathalienne is not sure if she is meant to claim it. Tir Cendelius has tasted her flesh and manifested into her soul. Who is she to refuse a god? Her guardian, The Black Death, is convinced that she is meant to be Divine. His purpose is to get her to the Well of Ascension, to make up for the failures of his past. However, there are others who seek Divinity, others that may be more suited to godhood than a young elf.
Relationships: Fane/Female Godwoken (Divinity: Original Sin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a novelization my playthrough of DOS2 with my husband. And fleshing out our characters for some fun. A lot of The Black Death's dialogue was written by my husband, I wanted to give him credit where credit is due. He helped me a lot to get into his character. (When I initially started this, I was writing The Black Death like Ifan...)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story and leave a comment if you like it. As you probably saw in the tags, grammar is not my strong suit. I will apologize in advance for that. I did get my husband to look it over but no one's perfect in the art of grammar and punctuation. Except professional writers and editors...I am neither.

Blood had soaked into the very earth The Black Death had walked upon. Blood he freed from the elven people whose corpses now littered the ground. Those fools and their obsession with their Ancestor Trees. If they’d run from the raid, they may have lived, at least _more_ may have lived. Many a lizard in the House of War would pay good coin for an elven slave, some of them were even treated decently. For a moment he pondered, which fate would an elf consider worse? Slavery? Or death? Too bad he never asked these poor sods before he cut them down.

The crackling of fire was only just audible amidst the screams. His kin were much crueler than he, at least The Black Death gave his prey a quick death. Sitting amidst the carnage, the horned lizard rested his chin in his palm, waiting impatiently for his comrades to finish burning the place down. Large yellow eyes scanned over his form. Dark blood was barely visible on his ebony scales, some of it might have even been his, he honestly couldn’t tell.

Tapping a clawed finger to his temple, a scowl formed on the lizard’s face as he gazed over the glowing orange embers burning everything it touched. So much for subtlety. The cracking flames soon became the only sound in the forest. The screaming had stopped. It seemed everyone was finally dead. The Black Death rose to his feet, taking one more look over his figure and rolling his shoulders back. It didn’t take long for his companions to join him, two assassins whose names he never bothered learning and a brutish lizard who went by Kain.

“Didn’t your boss say be subtle?” The Black Death sneered through his sharp teeth.

“As I recall, the Master said ‘make sure t’he tree burns, so we burned it.” Kain smirked, resting a giant two-handed hammer over his shoulders. “Not like there’s any more o’ em cannibal beasts left t’tell on us.”

“We did what was bid. That is all that matters,” one of the assassins said bluntly and gestured for the group to get moving. Yes. They did what was bid. The Black Death didn’t ask many questions when he was hired for this job. If he got picky in who he killed or for what reason he was killing he’d make much less coin. Yet it was not something he’d let go unnoticed. Perhaps he’d ask his employer why he was so keen on killing elves and burning down Ancestor Trees. Or perhaps he’d get paid and move on to somewhere else. Continuing along in plaguing silence, Kain’s arm suddenly barred The Black Death from taking another step. Glowering at his kin, he furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side as a way of questioning what he was doing. Kain motioned his head forward, signalling for the horned lizard to look ahead.

Ahead in the brush, a scrawny elf child sat atop a ruin, tapping her bare feet on the stone. She couldn’t have been older than five, maybe six, no older than his own daughter. Her white-blonde hair nearly touched her feet and covered most of her face. Her clothes were mere scraps of cloth and leaves bound together to make some pathetic attempt of a garb. He doubted she was part of the tribe they’d just massacred, she seemed to be completely oblivious to the carnage that lay ahead.

“How in the hell did she get up there?” Kain whispered, dropping his arm back to his side.

“She has Source. I can smell it,” one of the assassins informed, taking a giant inhale.

That scrawny runt had Source? Well. Shit. “If those elves were her tribe, I say leave her. If the flames don’t get her, she’ll eventually starve.” The Black Death tasted something foul in his mouth as he uttered the words. He didn’t kill children, that was his only code, but leaving her to burn or starve might as well be just the same as cutting her down. Regardless, he just wanted to get out of the woods before the flames caught up to them. Just because he could breathe fire didn't mean he was fireproof. 

Kain let out what could only be described as a mix of a laugh and a scoff. “Elf children are few and far between. That runt’s got Source. Might prove interesting.”

The band of lizards looked back to the ruin. It was empty. As quickly as they’d seen her, the child had vanished. Sounds of the forest soon began to echo in The Black Death’s ears. Trees rustled, birds flew from the safety of their nests and the fire his companions started continued to spread. Yet amidst the shrieks of burning wildlife, it felt…too quiet. Kain made a motion with two fingers, silently telling the group to advance on the ruin. The assassins concealed themselves, blending into the trees and moving swifter than a shadow. Kain and The Black Death silently moved forward, keeping their ears and eyes open. As they descended into the ruin, the horned lizard did not fail to notice the animal corpses, half eaten and rotting with flies.

_She’s living here._

The inside of the ruin was dank, cold and reeked of stale air. Ivy and ferns scaled up the cracking stone walls and stray wildlife scurried away as the lizard’s claws clacked on the stone. This place was barren. There was no way such a young child could be resourceful enough to live out here alone, not a _tame_ child anyway. Kain sniffed the air and exhaled in disgust. “Somethin’s rottin’ down ‘ere.”

The Black Death covered his nose as the stench of rot reached him. Further ahead, he found the culprit. Curled up in the corner he found a cadaver petrified in wood. He’d heard when elves died, their bodies eventually rejoined nature and took root as trees but he’d never seen it up close. The decrepit corpse still had meat on its bones, meat surrounded by maggots and flies. The legs had already turned to wood, the roots stretching into the cracks of the ruin in search of soil to plant in. It was fascinating, yet, disgusting. “Well, we found out what’s causing the smell,” The Black Death raised his brow to Kain. “Probably been here awhile.”

A small step stopped Kain from responding. Both lizards had their weapons drawn in an instant, pivoting around to face the source of the noise behind them. It was the child. She was even scrawnier up close, her bones were almost visible through the skin. Her body was covered in dirt and her hair was matted and shaggy. She took a small step back when confronted with weapons but made no attempt to run. The Black Death sheathed his sword and looked to Kain to lower his weapon. He kept his eyes peeled for the assassins; they likely had the child in their sights.

Kain set his hammer on his back and reached into his pocket, pulling out an orange and holding it out to the child as a lure. “You out here alone?” he questioned, getting down on one knee to appear friendly.

“I’m waiting for my Daddy. He’s supposed to get me, that’s what Mummy said,” the child answered, moving a chunk of hair from her face. Her blue eyes focused on the orange but she didn’t move.

“Where is your mum?” Kain questioned. The Black Death already had a pretty good idea who the mother was. The only other elf in this sodding place.

The child slowly raised her arm, pointing passed them to the corpse in the corner. “She said my Daddy would find me here, but I’ve been waiting and waiting.”

The assassins slowly stepped into view, sheathing their daggers and looking to Kain. The aforementioned lizard slowly pierced the orange’s skin and peeled it away, further attempting to lure the child in. “Well, I’m a friend of your Daddy, he told us t’come get you.”

The Black Death snapped his head to him, what in all the hells was he doing? The child creeped forward cautious at the reptilians that towered over her. Kain split the peeled orange in half and smiled to the girl. She cocked her head to the side, moving her small hand to Kain and grabbed his wrist gently. Her head suddenly slumped down as though she were about to lose consciousness.

“You’re lying,” the child said in a voice that almost didn’t sound like her own. “She’ll sell well, young ones sell well. Keep her face pretty, carve the scar on her belly.”

Kain’s expression turned to anger and the child gripped his wrist tighter, her voice reflecting his own emotion. “Stupid brat!” she shouted, nearly mimicking Kain’s voice. “Keep out of my head FLESH EATER!”

In a fraction of a second, Kain struck the child with his other hand, sending her to the floor. “The litt’le runt!” he hissed, scattering back to his feet. “Thought those things ‘ad to eat ya t’read your mind. Litt’le beast’s a freak!”

Freak was one way of putting it. Most elves were freaks like that. Why the House of War loved to keep them about as slaves was beyond him. Not that this runt would survive slavery. With her little...talent, she'd likely end up worse than beaten. He’d entertained this notion long enough. “This is a waste of time. We’re done here, leave the runt,” he rolled his eyes and turned away, he never should have followed them in here in the first place. He’d done his job. “This place reeks of shit!”

Kain crossed his arms over his chest. “Y’know the master’ll pay double for her. She might be a Scion, y’understand I can’t just leave her here.”

“I don’t give a dwarf’s hairy arse if your master will pay me the Empire’s weight in gold and let me fuck his wife! I’m not wrestling some scrawny bag of bones all the way out of this rank forest!”

Kain hoisted the child up by the arm so her feet just hovered above the ground. She kicked and thrashed about like a fish out of water in some pathetic attempt to free herself. The Black Death’s stomach turned and his teeth bared out in a snarl. He had seen the worst kinds of death; he’d been responsible for some of the worst kinds of death and did it without so much as a blink. Yet this made his skin crawl. When the end came for his daughter, did she thrash about like this? The next motion happened without the horned lizard even thinking. Within a fraction of a second his sword was out and had severed Kain’s arm from his body, sending the child to the ground with a hard _thud!_

A guttural wail escaped Kain’s mouth as blood sprayed from his wound. The two assassins immediately drew their blades, spinning around their enemy with the grace of a cat. Rage seeped from his body; his Source began to manifest deep in his core. _They killed my daughter! They killed Aayla!_ The first assassin came at him, his dagger sliced his arm just once. The Black Death grabbed his attacker’s wrist and snapped it up, breaking the bone from the flesh and cleaving his sword into the assassin’s gut. His yellow eyes searched for the next one, the one that made a leap for him like a damned idiot would. With one swing of his blade, the second assassin was a heap on the ground with his head rolling away from it. That just left Kain.

The beady eyed lizard reached for his hammer, but without his other arm, the fool couldn’t wield it. “All this for a slave?!” Kain spat, scrambling to his feet as The Black Death stalked towards him. “The Master will kill you for this betrayal!”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone here to tell on me,” he sneered, jabbing his blade into his kin’s throat.

Once Kain’s body hit the floor next to the child, the lizard pivoted on one heel and began walking out of the ruin. He was done here. His anger would not calm, even as he left the ruin behind and continued out of the forest. Moving his hand to his chest piece, a clawed finger gently tapped on the juvenile lizard skull that hung from his neck. Aayla always had a way of keeping him tame. Taking in a few breaths, his Source started to recede and with it, his rage. That was the last time he’d be taking jobs in the Empire...for a time anyway. Perhaps he’d find work in Arx, there was always someone looking for a hired sword there. Though Arx was fucking cold. Maybe Driftwood? Driftwood reeked like fish and rotting shit, maybe not Driftwood.

Exiting the burning woods and onto the main road that led to town, The Black Death rolled his eyes. He was being followed. Annoyed, he glanced over his shoulder, spotting the elf runt, staring at him like a lost whelp. “Get lost,” he growled.

She merely stared at him. It was unsettling that a child could be so strange. “The birds say you burned the forest down. It keeps burning until nothing is left.”

“Yeah kid, that’s how fire works, it burns things! Now piss off! I’m not getting paid because of you!” he turned back to the road and continued on, immediately hearing her tiny feet falling behind him. _Fuck._ What the hell was he supposed to do now? “I told you to piss off!”

The child had taken her stride next to him, staring at his taloned feet as she walked. “My Daddy can’t find me when the forest is dead. I need to go where he’ll find me.”

“I hate to break it to you but your ‘Daddy’ is either dead or he doesn’t give a shit that you’re around and isn’t coming to get you. You’ve been starving in a ruin for months and you didn’t figure that out?”

“There was nowhere else to go.”

“Ugh! Alright runt, follow me to the tavern, I’m sure someone will deal with you there. And no talking.” They made it maybe three steps before she began to talk.

“Are you going to sell me?”

“No,” he answered before she could even finish the question. A light touch grazed his arm, causing him to flinch. “Take your hand off me, my thoughts are my own,” he warned.

“You’re not lying to me Jahrys. You don’t sell children; you don’t kill children. Not after-”

The Black Death jerked his arm from her grasp and glared at her with was at first anger but then sadness. “Never call me by that name again runt. If you’re going to call me anything call me The Black Death. It’s the only name I recognize now.”

“My Mummy called me Nathalienne. You can call me that and I’ll call you Black Death.”


	2. The Merryweather - Fifteen Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathalienne and the Black Death wake up on the Merryweather.

_Fear, Anger, Hatred, Suffering, Pain._ The young elf squirmed in her restraints, her open palms touching the rough grain of the wood table she was chained to. _Fear, Anger, Hatred, Suffering, Pain._ Nathalienne winced as each feeling passed through her; emotions of the Sourcerers who lay upon this same table. Tightness squeezed on her throat, tightness from a collar. Her lips parted slightly in some attempt to speak, to call out for help but no words came. A groggy haze clouded her thoughts, the people here were afraid. The Sourcerers and their captors. The elf attempted to regain her own thoughts, blocking out the voices of the other prisoners. _Where am I?_

She had a vague recollection of being in Arx. There were monsters. The Black Death had unleashed Source to fight them. _The Black Death!_ Attempting to sit up, her chest struck the metal restraints keeping her bound to the slab of wood. Shooting her head to the side she found one other empty table, the restraints hoisted up for the next victim to lay upon. Thrashing in her restraints, Nathalienne slid her head to the other side, seeing two other tables. One was empty and the other restrained a black scaled lizard. The Black Death. A sigh of relief escaped her dry lips, their captors did not kill him. Trying to find her voice again, she desperately whimpered, calling out to him in the only way her body allowed.

Footsteps creaked on the wood. Nathalienne tilted her head upwards, the collar cutting off her oxygen until she lay back down.

“So, still a bit groggy are we?” A woman’s voice questioned in the distance. Lifting her head up again, slightly so the collar wouldn’t choke her, she saw the woman in question. Her long black hair was pulled into two loose braids, her body adorned in red and white Magister garb. Magisters? It was the Magisters that did this. She remembered the caravans they loaded her into with many other Sourcerers. “Don’t worry, the sedative should wear off soon enough,” she continued, pulling on a lever that lifted the tables up onto an angle and popped the restraints free. Nathalienne slid to the ground, her body still numb with pins and needles from the sedative this Magister administered.

“Easy now, no need to hurry,” the woman smiled but it was not a smile of kindness. Nathalienne didn’t need to touch her to know that. “Get your bearings, then report to me upstairs.”

“Black Death…” she finally spoke, pointing to the lizard still unconscious on the table.

“Friend of yours I take it? I had to give him a rather more potent dose, almost thought I killed him. No matter. He’ll wake soon enough.”

The woman then left the elf to her own devices. “Black Death?” she called out to her lizard companion again, her voice louder this time. The haziness and dead weight of her body began to lift, her senses were coming back to her. Her hands ran along the wood of the floor, many footsteps had fallen on it, many Magisters, many Sourcerers, if she let their voices in, she’d be overwhelmed. Taking her hands off the floor, Nathalienne pushed herself up onto her feet. Uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach, wherever she was, she was moving. Her balance shifted from one foot to the other as sensation returned to her and she could walk steadily. Her first priority was The Black Death.

Wobbling over to the table where he lay unrestrained and tilted forward, she pulled the ragged shirt the Magisters threw her in and draped it over her hand. Gently pushing on the lizard’s arm, his yellow eyes jolted open and his clawed hand lunged for her, stopping the instant he recognized her face. “Nat!” he exclaimed, pulling her into his arms. “I thought they killed you! How did you…?”

Quickly stepping back from the lizard’s embrace, she helped him to his feet. “I don’t remember. There were…creatures and then…most of it is blank. I just remember being in a caravan and then…here.”

The Black Death set a hand on his chest, where the skull he wore normally rested only it was not there. “Aayla! They took her!” he snarled, his claws tearing into the threadbare gown that replaced his armour.

Nathalienne tensed, that skull meant more to him than life itself. “There’s a Magister upstairs, she might-”

The elf could not get the rest of her sentence out before The Black Death had barreled passed her and climbed up the ladder that led to the next level of the ship. She stalled before following, hell hath no fury like The Black Death in a rage. A lesson she was quick to learn over the years of travelling with him was not to be in the way of his wrath. Yet, there was nowhere else for her to go but up. The Magister would eventually collect her if she took too long, she was certain.

“GIVE IT BACK YOU HARPY!” The Black Death’s shouts echoed from above. Nathalienne hurried up the ladder, pushing open the hatch over her. At this rate he’d get himself killed! Climbing onto the deck, the young elf rushed forward to the fray. The woman that she’d met below had her wand pointed to the lizard. Sparks of electricity spurted from the weapon, making The Black Death thrash and convulse.

“STOP!” Nathalienne pleaded, holding her arms up to show she would not attack.

“Stop?” The Magister looked bemused at her request. “This barbarian tried to attack me, making demands he’s in no position to make. I should have your friend shackled in the hold.”

“YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER! I WANT HER BACK!” The Black Death roared, gritting his teeth together to hide his pain.

“It’s the skull!” the elf explained with utmost urgency. “He was wearing a skull when you took him. Please! It has no magic, just let him have it back! It’s his daughter’s!”

A chuckle escaped the Magister’s lips. “You mean to say this lizard wore his child’s skull around his neck? My, my and I thought elves eating their kin was the utmost treachery. Regardless of whether the skull has magic or not, I’m certainly not at liberty to return it to this beast.”

“YOU WENCH!” the lizard hollered, grabbing at his collar and pulling at it.

“Yes looks like that collar fits you snugly enough, nice bit of work, even if I do say so myself,” the Magister was just taunting the lizard at this point. She sent another jolt of electricity from her wand, bringing The Black Death to his knees. “Oh not to worry. Every dog needs to get used to its leash! If you don’t want to spend the rest of your journey in shackles, you’ll be a good lad and report to Magister William.”

The Black Death snarled, rising to his feet and giving Nathalienne a long look, a look that told her what she needed to do. _Find Aayla._ Clenching his fists at his sides, the lizard kicked in the door next to the Magister and wandered down the corridor as the woman instructed. Nathalienne gently placed her hand over the Magister’s. _Fear, Hatred. Siwan was afraid of the monsters. The Sourcerers brought the monsters, the Voidwoken. It was the Sourcerer’s fault. All the Sourcerer’s fault! Bring an end to Source! End it all. The collars will stop them! They can’t cast Source, there will be no more Voidwoken!_ A child’s skull flashed in the recesses of her mind _. In the laboratory. In the desk. A rare collectable. Can’t let Ricks take it._

Magister Siwan gave the elf a stare of disgust, as though being touched by a Sourcerer was like being touched by the diseased. Her visage softened and her brow furrowed as she noticed the blank look on the elf’s face, as though she were elsewhere. “My word, you do seem a bit befuddled, don’t you?” she examined the woman, sliding her hand away. “Hm. Perhaps I was too generous with that sedative.”

Memories and emotions burned into Nathalienne’s mind, causing her head to hurt. As Magister Siwan spoke, all she saw was her lips moving, her expression changing. Then she’d see the image of Siwan, much younger, playing swords with her brother. A stillborn babe in her arms as she cried. Horrific monsters, villagers screaming, giant teeth, black eyes, ripping claws. _No. No. No. No. No. No._

“Are you still in there?”

The young elf shook her head, bright blue eyes widened and focused on the Magister. “Am I still where?” she cocked her head to the side, her mind slowly becoming her own again.

“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll soon gather your wits…most likely…eventually. All you need to know is that you’re on route to Fort Joy,” Siwan smiled, almost wickedly. “A new life awaits you, and if you’re a particularly good girl, perhaps a cure. An end to Source. For good.”

Nathalienne traced her finger along the smooth edges of her collar, her throat pinched uncomfortably. “And this?” she said, her gaze piercing through Siwan’s dark, harsh eyes. “The collars?”

“For my peace of mind of course. Mine and the worlds. Why don’t you try to cast one of your little Source spells? See what happens.”

The elf knew she needn’t bother trying. Siwan told her more than enough without using words. The collars muted Source, made it impossible to cast. She didn’t need to give her any satisfaction. “I don’t need to. Even if I wanted to, you already know it won’t happen.”

“Oh, do go on. I don’t hold it against you. Promise.”

Nathalienne ignored the Magister’s taunting. Perhaps the collars did more than mute Source, perhaps they caused even more pain. She could sense the pain of the other Sourcerers, the ones that tried, the ones that fell for Siwan’s taunting. Staring the Magister coldly in the face she softly muttered, “No.”

“My, aren’t you a meek little lamb. Perhaps I needn’t have collared you at all. Though it does look _darling_ on you. So let’s just leave it on shall we?” Siwan returned the elf’s cold glare. “Because to answer your question, what the collar does is this: it makes you unable to cast Source. For your own peace of mind of course. Yours, and the whole worlds. Now run along. Join your barbaric lizard to see Magister William before he causes more trouble, I’m sure you’d hate to see him shackled.”

“So would you…” Nathalienne stated bluntly and passed through the door, her hands fidgeting at her sides. The foul reek of blood soon flooded her nostrils, the first door to her right was swung open, guarded by two pale Magisters. Curiosity getting the better of her, she peered into the room. A mass heap of body parts lay littered on the floor, luring her in. The Magister’s hands tightened on their blades.

“Back away Sourcerer. There’s been a murder,” the Magister on the left barked, his voice hoarse like he’d been barking that same order to all who passed by here.

The young elf hardly paid any attention to what was said, the pile of gore continued to call her. She stood, transfixed on it, hunger panged from within. The body began to move before her, contorting into a monstrosity of bones, meat and flesh. Empty eye sockets held onto her gaze, a broken jaw slacked open, releasing the length of its tongue to coil on the floor.

_Help me…_

“Oi!” The Magister snapped his fingers, breaking Nathalienne from her trance. “Are you slow elf? I said move along!”

The body was nothing but a heap of gore once more, no longer bearing any resemblance to what it once was. “I can help,” she said, eyes still glued to the corpse. Inside the room, another Magister examined the body.

She gave her attention to her comrades outside. “Cadoc. Let her in.”

“Alright then Sourcerer, you heard Waters,” The Magister called Cadoc gestured behind him with his thumb, allowing Nathalienne inside with Magister Waters. The elf kept her focus on the corpse, waiting for it to move again, to call to her again but there was nothing.

“Ugly sight isn’t it?” Magister Waters frowned, peering down from underneath her hood. “We’re extremely lucky no Voidwoken followed the Source that did this. Burns me up that this happened under our protection.”

“Protection?” Nathalienne arched a brow. “This man was your captive.”

“Finn didn’t see it like that. He was desperate for us to help him. Two things scared the living daylights out of him: his own shadow, and his own Source. Speaking of…” Waters looked to her with a mirthless smile. “I was on duty in your room when the murder happened. You were asleep the whole time, didn’t even stir. You and that brute lizard are the only indisputably innocent people on this ship. Unless you can commit murder in your sleep.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever mastered that trick. Can’t say the same for The Black Death.”

“Right…Thought as much. Listen, you said you could help?”

“I can. I would need to touch the body to see.”

“You’re not eating him!” Waters’ voice went firm, her lips pursed in disgust.

“I don’t have to eat him. Though I’d learn a lot more from that, I just need to touch.”

“Alright. But I’m watchin’ you elf! Any signs of trouble and I’ll stick an arrow through you!”

Kneeling next to the body, Nathalienne slid her hand across the wooden planks, wet with blood. Her touch moved over the heap of flesh, still warm from when it held life. Her shoulders slumped forward, a trance coming over her. “Clapped in irons, dragged here. It’s okay. They’ll help me. They’ll cure me. I can’t be like this…I can’t. Woman dressed in rags, so kind, she understands, she helps, she…” she trails off, her hands clasping over a chunk of flesh and lifting it from the ground. Instinctively her teeth sank into the meat, blood spurting and dribbling down her chin. As the piece of flesh slid down her throat, the picture became clearer, as though she weren’t just feeling Finn’s pain, she _was_ Finn.

“I said no eating the corpse!” Waters snapped.

“… _hurts_ , burning from the inside, melting…from the inside! Stop! End it! End it! END IT!” Hot, white pain boiled deep within her, causing the elf to scream and jump back, dropping the chunk of flesh in her hand. Her skin had gone pale as a sheet, her eyes wide with terror, her heart racing with adrenaline. Trembling, Nathalienne stayed on the floor, unable to move until the Magister hoisted her to her feet. Magister Cadoc was also in the room with his sword unsheathed

“By Lucian’s Grace! What was that!? Elf you’re covered in blood! What did you do?” he demanded, shooting daggers to the petrified elf.

“I—”

“Put your sword away Cadoc! I told her to examine the body,” Waters intervened, taking Nathalienne by the shoulders and shaking her once. “You said something about a woman. Who was she? Would you know her to see her?”

“I—” the elf trembled like a leaf, trying to recollect any face. “There’s… no face. There’s only pain.”

“Dammit elf! Answer Waters!” Cadoc raised his arm, ready to use force to get what he was after.

“Cadoc!” Waters warned, her expression softening when she turned her gaze back to Nathalienne. “I’ll take you to the hold, you gather yourself, have some water and when that woman’s face comes back to you, I’ll throw in a shiny gold coin for you. How about that?” she produced a cloth from the depths of her robes and wiped the blood from her hands and face. Nodding in response, the Magister smiled. “Thanks. I just want to catch whoever did this so they don’t hurt anyone else.”

Waters guided the young elf from the scene of gore, leading her down a small corridor into the main hold. The smell of salty air and old wood was a welcomed one compared to the stench of death and blood. The beams above squeaked and creaked from the heavy footfalls of the Magisters above. Nathalienne instantly searched for The Black Death, spotting him at a table with two dwarves and chugging down a mug of ale. The second he saw her being guided by the Magister he rose to his feet, nearly knocking the table over.

“Watch yerself boy!” a dwarf wearing a glorious pirate hat furrowed his thick brows. The ebony lizard ignored him, moving to Nathalienne with an urgent step. He stared down the Magister, his eyes burning.

“She hurt you?” The Black Death kept his eyes on Waters, even though he wasn’t asking her the question.

“No,” Nathalienne answered, stepping away from the Magister and moving in front of her, catching her companion’s attention fully. “She’s investigating a murder.”

“I saw that poor bastard splattered all over the floor. And you just had to get involved?” he grit his teeth.

“I could help.”

“Just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you should. Not for these sodding Divine Order scum.”

The elf peered over her shoulder to Magister Waters. “It’s not for them.”

“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Waters’ face scrunched in obvious discomfort and she turned back down the corridor to the body. The Black Death nudged the elf forward to the table where he sat with the dwarves and grabbed his mug, chugging the remainder of its contents back.

“Did that bitch Siwan show you where Aayla was?” the lizard spared no time in asking. Rarely did he request Nathalienne to get into people’s minds but this…it was something he needed.

“Below decks, in her desk.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back. Stay out of trouble. And don’t go near that body again. And don’t go asking questions about it you hear me?”

Nathalienne nodded in understanding and her companion was gone. Alone again, the elf took in her new surroundings. Sitting at the table next to a dwarf with short black hair and a mat of chest hair, she remained quiet. “What are you tryin’ to hear anyway?” he whispered, paranoid, to the other dwarf.

“I’ll tell you, if you keep quiet long enough for me to listen,” the dwarf wearing the pirate hat rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with his kin. He sat with his palms facing up on his legs, his beard enamoured with golden medallions. Looking to her with one blueish-green eye, he acknowledged her presence. “Listen up _girl_ , you hear that?”

That was a vague question. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”

“The _ship_ of course.”

Her ears perked up, listening to the sounds around her. Children were begging a woman to sing for them. A lizard complained about the quality of food. A Magister accused a man of murder. The ship continued to squeak and creak. And the sea…the sea was…angry? She could hear the waves just barely from all the noise inside but she heard enough. “I hear the sea. She’s angry, like she’ll capsize the ship.”

The dwarf squinted, listening for himself. “That isn’t anger, that’s…anticipation. She senses something. I’d hold onto my breeches if I were you mate. That’s all you hear though? Listen _close_.”

Closing her eyes, Nathalienne focused, tuning out the chatter, the waves, everything. _S-q-u-e-e-a-k_. She opened her eyes, raising a brow to the dwarf who had a large smile across his features. “There! You heard it, didn’t you? I knew it. I _knew_ it! Aye this is good news girl, good news!”

A puzzled look etched onto her face. “I heard it but…I don’t know exactly what I heard.”

“It’s the _wheel_ , the _wheel_ , don’t you see you beautiful idiot?! Squeaks whenever the helmsmen jerks it clockwise, which means we’re heading east. Burn my beard! That means…if we’ve been travelling for…Yes! Only 10.34 nautical miles to Fort Joy.”

Her brow furrowed. He seemed eager to get to the Fort. She couldn’t imagine why, if it was meant to be a prison, there couldn’t be anything good there. Giving the dwarf an awkward smile, she moved from her seat, keeping her eye out for her companion’s return. “Say,” she looked back to the dwarf. “Is there any food on the ship? Or are the Magisters planning to starve us too?”

“Ha!” The dwarf bellowed, slamming his hand on the table with amusement. “That reptile woman over there is handing out turnip water, that’s about all the food you’ll get here. Honestly, starving might be the better option.”

The elf let out a small chuckle and moved to the lizard in question. She doubted she’d eat much, but the ache in her stomach told her she had to have something other than Finn in her system.. Contrary to being raised by a lizard for the majority of her life, she’d only met a few others on her travels. The Black Death never took her to the Ancient Empire, matter of fact he refused to even talk about the Empire with the exception of saying it was ‘a rotten place filled with rancid cunts.’ Nathalienne did another glance around, still no sign of The Black Death. What was keeping him? Worry filled her, knowing him, he’d probably gotten himself into a fight of some sorts. The last thing this ship needed was another murder. She was certain they’d even pin Finn’s murder on him if he got rash and did something stupid.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Nathalienne’s body quickly snapped back to face the scarlet lizard that seemed to be talking to her. When she noticed there were no others around that he could be talking to, she realized she assumed correctly. The lizard’s arms crossed over his chest. “A fresh face in this stale hell. Let’s size you up shall we? See if you’ll do.”

Before the elf could even question him, his large, taloned hand had gripped her by the jaw and forced her to look up at him. He squeezed slightly, causing her to wince and bare her teeth. Flashes of the lizard’s memories began invading her thoughts and before they could take a hold of her and put her into a trance, she slapped his hand away, hard. “Don’t!”

“Well we are a fierce one aren’t we? Don’t worry, I’ll soon remedy _that_!” his last word packed a punch that made her shoulders tense. She could understand why The Black Death kept her away from the Empire. The lizard’s stance made her feel so small. She took a step back, colliding with another body. A black, scaled hand gently held her shoulder, making sure he made no contact with her skin.

“The only thing you’ll need to remedy is reattaching your head to your body!” The Black Death’s harsh voice cut through the air like a knife. “There’s an elf over there in the corner, Nat. Why don’t you talk to him about… elf things? I need to have a word with this red bastard about lizard things.”

Nathalienne wanted nothing more than to get out of her companion’s wrath. Quietly ducking out of the way, she hustled over to the aforementioned elf reading in a corner.

* * *

The Magister’s eyes were bloodshot, her skin had turned purple from the lack of air. Her feet dangled off the ground, once thrashing but she’d lost the ability to do even that. The Black Death had the Magister by the throat, his claws piercing the fragile skin along her neck. He may not have been able to unleash his Source, but his rage was something that could never be muted by a collar. She took his daughter, kept her locked in a desk to be displayed later. “You should have shackled me when you had the chance bitch!” his voice was nothing but a low growl. Siwan opened her mouth, desperately trying to call for help but she couldn’t even breathe let alone muster enough strength to cry out to her fellows above. With one fluid motion, the lizard jerked his hand with enough force to break the Magister’s neck with a loud _crack!_

_One less Magister to worry about._

The Black Death spared no time in going to Siwan’s desk, pulling every drawer open and breaking every lock until he found Aayla nestled in a small bundle of cloth to prevent damage. At least the Magister had enough decency to do that. The skull was still attached to a length of thick leather cord. “Sorry Little One. I won’t be parted from you again,” he exhaled, his demeanour instantly calmed once he hung the skull around his neck and it rested on his chest. 

Now to deal with Siwan’s body. With a murderer on the ship, one would think it would be easy to pin the death on whoever killed the poor sod. However, luck hasn’t exactly been on his side. The other Magisters saw him pass through this way and if they found Siwan’s body like this, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who stopped her from breathing. Hoisting the corpse over his shoulder, The Black Death descended down the hatch, back to the tables he woke up on. There had to be somewhere he could stash her, somewhere her fellows wouldn’t find her. Spotting a rug not far from where he stood, he dropped the Magister on the floor and hurried to retrieve it. He then dragged Siwan onto the rug and rolled her into it, casually standing it back up in the corner as if it had never been moved in the first place.

With that out of the way, the horned lizard climbed back up the hatch to rejoin Nat before she got herself involved in something she shouldn’t. He couldn’t seem to leave her alone for two minutes before she’d wander off into some sort of shit storm because some dead thing told her to do it. He knew elves were weird like that but Nat…she was strange even by elf standards. Maybe she was a Scion, he recalled Kain entertaining the idea all those years ago. He wasn’t exactly knowledgeable in elven lore to know what a Scion even was, just that they were elves that were strange by elf standards. He considered taking Nat to her homeland, where she most likely would have been born, to get some answers on the subject. However, by the time he’d gotten around to it, the land had been ravaged by Deathfog. It wasn’t like it mattered one way or another. She knew she was an elf, what more did she need to know?

Returning to the hold, his assumption about his elven companion being where she shouldn’t was spot on. He found her in the clutches of the one particular lizard he’d hoped she wouldn’t have gone near. The Red Prince. He knew a lot about him. The Black Death might not have ever met the royal prick a day in his life, but he didn’t need to. Any lizard that goes around fucking demons is a disgrace to their kin. The first smart thing The House of War did was exile that cur from the Empire. Zorl-Stissa herself must have thought it a practical joke to put Nat in that red bastard’s path. As though to say he never should have kept her from the Empire in the first place. His sharp teeth impaled his tongue, drawing blood. His feet carried him over to The Red Prince in less than a second. He’d already killed one person today; he had no issue killing one more. He might just do the Empire a favour. Nathalienne followed his direction and got out of his way. Now it was just him and the Prince.

“On the market for a slave?” he snarled, holding back the urge to wring his neck.

“You have my apologies kin, I didn’t realize she was already spoken for,” the prince shrugged his shoulders, giving off an air of utter contempt.

The Black Death lunged for the lizard, gripping his throat in his claws. “She’s no one’s slave! And if I see you so much as lay one more of your wretched claws on her, you’ll spend eternity in all the hells with all those demons you love to fuck.”

The Red Prince’s face dropped, his high and mighty visage turned to a snarl. “If you know who I am, then I’d suggest you remove your hands from me at once. There are much more important things than an elf and your personal opinion of me.”

“And your royal highness needing a new slave is one of them I take it?” he bit, releasing his grasp on the lizard. “A disgraced prisoner and you’re still as arrogant as the day you crawled out of your mother! Remember my face Prince. You go near her again; it’ll be the last face you ever see.”

He was gone before The Red Prince was able to give him a response. The only thing that mattered was he got the message. Clutching onto Aayla’s skull, he took in a calming breath, gently tapping his claw on the skull’s forehead. Moving up the small bit of stairs he gave a short glance to Nat, she seemed to be distracted with the other elf and judged she was safe enough for him to go to Magister William. If William was alone in that room, he’d snuff the life out of him, he’d kill every Magister on this vessel! How hard could it be to start a mutiny?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to leave a comment if you liked it :)


	3. Voidwoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voidwoken attack the ship. Nathalienne and The Black Death try to find a way to escape.

The elf sat alone; his face buried within the pages of _Cranley Hewbert’s Famous Encyclopedia._ Nathalienne wondered if she should even strike up a conversation, he seemed very taken by that book. She couldn’t just stand here gawking like she’d never seen another elf in her life. She had seen many elves…she just never _interacted_ with them. Her instinct told her to move along, to move somewhere she couldn’t hear The Black Death mutter threats to the lizard that inspected her like a prized horse. Just then, the elf lowered his book, looking up at her with large green eyes. He scanned over her, as though he were taking in every detail.

His inspection was not like the lizard’s. He was not examining her as though she were merchandise. He was studying her. Regardless, it made the young elf awkwardly glance from side to side. Her kin rose, and began to touch her ears. As his fingers explored and prodded her face, Nathalienne focused on him. There was nothing. He was touching her and she couldn’t see anything. There were no memories, no feelings, it was just… _nothing_.

“Hmm…fascinating,” he said to himself, taking his hands away from her and sat back down, leaving the young elf in a state of confusion. What just happened? Why didn’t she see anything? Lunging forward she rested her palm on her fellow elf’s cheek, focusing hard. Nothing. She was surrounded by nothing. It was only silence. She’d never experienced this kind of quiet. Nathalienne stared at him in amazement, just for a moment before she realized she had been touching a complete stranger’s face for many seconds.

The male elf raised his brow. “Hmm? What purpose did that serve? Was that a greeting or?”

She quickly pulled her hand back, embarrassment flushed on her face.

“Oh. Oh dear, I seem to have crossed some kind of cultural taboo. How…difficult. You have my apologies, fellow elf,” the man glanced around at the Magisters patrolling the hold. “Perhaps I should demand the same from those red cloaked humans. They laid their hands on me more than once…”

Nathalienne continued staring. Was her inability to get into his head an elf thing? It wasn’t as if she’d made physical contact with any other elves to know. But if her recollection of elven lore was correct, her kin, like her would eat their dead to gain their memories. Perhaps he was different. Perhaps he was like her only the opposite. Perhaps he wasn’t even familiar with their people, considering he just referred to their awkward interaction as a cultural taboo. “Who _are_ you?” she whispered in semi amazement; she didn’t even realize the words slipped out of her mouth until he looked up from his book once again. A hint of annoyance seemed to stretch across his face.

“Ah yes the niceties, my name is Fane, I am a scholar from…well…I am a seeker of knowledge, that is enough. It is pleasurable to meet you.”

“Nathalienne,” she introduced, not that he seemed to care much. His attention was right back into his book. Small talk may not have been her strong suit but she did know when someone was not interested in chit-chat. Realizing that she hadn’t taken her eyes off of him, she jerked her head away, forcing herself to look elsewhere. The door to her right had been opened. Turning around and scanning the ship for The Black Death, she couldn’t see him. Did he move on through to register? Her brows furrowed. That didn’t seem like him. The Black Death was never one to respect authority, especially not when that authority was holding him against his will.

* * *

_Well…fuck._

His plan of staging a mutiny was already falling face first into a pile of shit. Magister William wasn’t alone, nor was he unarmed. The latter he expected, no fool would be aboard a ship of Sourcerers without a weapon. That being said, his tactic of slamming the door behind him and shredding William to pieces was not going to happen. The Magister and two of his fellows had an old woman surrounded on all sides with crossbows pointed on her.

“Keep your bows trained on her! If she so much as lifts a finger, shoot!” William commanded, paying no attention to the lizard in the room. “So, you admit it? You murdered that poor fellow?”

_Shit._

“Yes I did,” the woman declared as-of-matter-of-factly in a haggard, raspy voice. It made The Black Death wonder how this feeble old hag managed to pull off a murder of that calibre. He caught a glimpse of the body, he didn’t bother investigating, he didn’t care enough to. He did see enough to know it was gruesome, not something he’d think a withered shrew capable of. “But of course, that was only the beginning. There are others whose lives must end.”

The woman slowly turned her head, staring the lizard down with dark eyes that were almost black. The Black Death bared his teeth, not taking kindly to her threat.

“Good gods! The woman’s mad!” William followed the woman’s gaze to The Black Death, just noticing his appearance. “You there! Sourcerer! Go fetch Magister Siwan. We need to do more than collar this maniac! We need to shackle her, hands and feet!”

A chuckle escaped the lizard’s mouth, a clawed finger tapped on Aayla’s skull. “Siwan’s dead.” The Magister’s eyes went wide, his crossbow moved in an instant, pointing to him. The Black Death chuckled again and looked to the old woman. “Woman, if you’re staging a mutiny, I’ll gladly help you slaughter these Divine Order fucks!”

“No. Your journey is coming to an end,” The woman hissed through her teeth.

William pulled the trigger of the crossbow, the releasing arrow flying in a trajectory that could only end between the lizard’s eyes. The Black Death shot his arm out, his hand grabbing the arrow’s shaft just moments before the point pierced through his scales. Pressing his thumb upwards with intense strength, he splintered the arrow in two and dropped the pieces to the floor. William lowered the crossbow to reload it, giving the lizard the opportune moment to strike, however the old woman stole his attention, along with the Magisters.

“But do stick around for its finale because…” she reached for the collar around her neck, slipping her hands along the edge to get a grip of it. In one swift movement she broke the collar. How much strength did she have to pull that off? Even The Black Death didn’t have the strength to pry his damned collar from his neck. Something about this didn’t sit well with him.

“I’m just about to create a scene…”

“Subdue her men! Quickly!” William hoisted his crossbow back to the old woman, fear displayed plainly in his eyes. “If she casts Source the Voidwoken will come! They’ll end us all!”

The Magisters fired their arrows at her in unison. The woman raised her arms up, her palms open and facing the oncoming doom. An orange glow emerged from her hands, pulsing outwards like a forcefield, turning the arrows to neat little piles of ash by her feet. A wicked smile slowly crept up her wrinkled face. “Precisely.”

Pulsing her arms again, the orange glow radiated around her, a whirring, static filled noise echoed in the air around him. Her Source was _charging_. That meant when she released it, it would explode. The Magisters reloaded their bows and fired at her again, this time the arrows ricocheted from her and scattered in every which direction. The Black Death quickly hit the floor, dodging a stray arrow, a Magister also hit the ground with an arrow sticking out from her eye. The static stopped. The woman thrust her hands forward, releasing her Source to consume everything it touched. Jumping to his feet, the lizard bolted for the door, his directive changing.

He called to Nat; she hadn’t moved from where he left her. The young elf whipped her head in his direction, her bright eyes wide with shock. “GET DOWN!” he roared, the Source catching up with him and pushing him forward with such a force to knock him off his feet. Burning pain seared into the skin on his back where the Source made contact. His body flung forward, black spots danced across his line of sight as he crashed down, bashing his head hard enough to dent the ship’s floor. Then there was nothing but darkness.

Numbing pain wracked through his body. Water continually sprayed in his face, making him nauseous. His senses slowly coming back to him as his claws scratched the surface of the wet ground. His back still burned from its contact with the old woman’s Source, matter of fact, it was worse now than it was when it hit him. “Damn all the hells!” he grunted, hoisting himself to his hands and knees. “Nat?” he winced, turning his head as far as he could to look for her. “NAT!” he yelled, clambering to his feet and catching himself before he toppled back over. His hands clutched his side as the pain spread. “Agh!”

All of the other passengers were either dead or knocked out, most of the Magisters were reduced to nothing but a puddle of blood and innards. Water sprayed in through the cracks of the ship, slowly filling up the hold. Anyone left alive would be guaranteed to drown if they didn’t wake up soon. “NAT!” he called out again, searching the entire hold. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here! Panic flooded into his very being, had she become a puddle of gore? No. No she couldn’t have been dead! The wooden planks of the ship cracked and the sounds of the raging sea filled the silence in the air. What in all the hells was happening?

Scavenging the ship for a sword, The Black Death found one that was useful enough in the dismembered hands of a bloodied heap. It was far too light for a fighter like him, this sword was a rapier, made for nimble duels or fencing. It wouldn’t do the kind of damage he was used to inflicting, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Running back into the stern room, he headed up the stairs, following the sound of panic and muffled screams. Nat must have gone up there. She had to be up there. He wouldn’t accept the alternative. He wouldn’t fail her like he failed Aayla.

* * *

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Nathalienne’s face twitched as droplets of water splashed onto her face. A pungent odor attacked her nostrils, causing her face to scrunch. What was that smell? It reminded her of rotten fish, only ten times worse. Cringing as she sat up, she tried to take in her surroundings. The room was dark, the best she could make out were blurry shapes. The wood beneath her was damp to the touch, probably due to the water damage. “Hello!?” she called, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The shapes became clearer. She could make out a door just in front of her, a body lying next to her and three large crates down a few steps. At the far back of the room, she could just barely make out what appeared to be barrels stacked and tied together. Moving to open the door, the handle clicked but did not move. It was locked. “Hello! I’m stuck in here! Is anyone out there?” she called banging on the door as hard as she could. The surface of the wood was cold and seemed to numb her hand as she struck it. An image of a skull flashed in the recesses of her mind.

She fell back from the door, a sensation of existential dread pooled in her stomach. Something terrible was in this room. She needed to get out of here.

Turning her back on the door, she examined the body next to her, covering her hands to the best of her ability and feeling around for a key. Nothing. “Godsdammit!” she cursed, curious as to how she even got in here. She remembered The Black Death running from the stern room, shouting to get down and then she was flung back by an incredible force that knocked her out. Someone had to have moved her in here, she should still be in the hold otherwise. That begged the question: _who_ put her in here?

The ship lurched forward, knocking the elf to the ground with a hard _thud!_ The ship then lurched in the other direction, as if something were pulling it. With the ship rocking from side to side, Nathalienne was barely able to regain her footing. The hull began to snap, water began to vigorously spray into the room. Suddenly, the hull burst open with a loud crack! Monstrous tentacles broke through, letting in more water and breaking the crates just below her. The elf fell back again, her bare feet slipping against the wood as the room began to fill with an eerie green fog. Instantly, the room got colder, a kind of cold that could only be described as the type of chill one would feel when death was on their doorstep. As the smoke billowed across the floor, swallowing everything in its path.

_Deathfog!_

Moving back towards the door she pounded with all her might. “SOMEBODY LET ME OUT!” she cried, her throat almost burning. The ship jerked again, the elf flew to the ground, landing on her stomach next to the body. Her eyes widened as the green fog slowly drifted forward, spreading towards the steps. The Deathfog provided enough light that she could see a bow, a quiver of arrows and a broad sword scattered near the corpse. Swinging the bow and quiver over her shoulder, she then reached for the sword. If no one could hear her, she’d have to cut her way out. Swords were not her strong suit but how hard could it be to swing it at a door? The Black Death did teach her the basics.

Attempting to lift the sword was nearly impossible. It was so heavy that she needed two hands just to lift the weapon enough to drag it to the door. Using all of her might she managed to weakly hit the sword into the door, just enough to pierce the wood. It wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t strong enough to even carry the damn sword let alone use it. However, with Deathfog creeping closer to her, she had to cut her way out or die. She hit the door again, barely making a dent in the wood. She hit again and again, until she finally dropped the sword in exhaustion and defeat.

The Deathfog drew closer, too close for Nathalienne to feel safe breathing in fear of inhaling it. Taking in a deep inhale and holding it in, the elf searched the room desperately, banging on the door in a final attempt to get help. Then she saw it. To the left of her, a few loose planks were nailed to a hole in the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but she had no other options. Fleeing for her only hope of escape, Nathalienne gripped onto one of the boards, pulling it with no avail. She regripped the plank and yanked again, the nail moving slightly. Her face began turning red, her body begging her to stop holding her breath. Her brain was going into panic mode, her heart racing with adrenaline. She wouldn’t hold out much longer. The fog was so close she could see it creeping up in her peripherals, the cold smoke reaching outwards as though it were about to embrace her.

In one last effort to live, she pulled the plank, ripping the wood and nail from the beam. _Thank the gods!_ She squeezed herself into the hole, keeping her breath within her until she was certain she was free of the Deathfog. Busting through to the other side, the ship jerked to the side, causing the elf to topple over once again on her back. “Agh!” she inhaled sharply, kicking a crate over to block the hole in the wall, preventing the Deathfog from seeping through. Her head hit the floor; her jagged breathing was louder than the ship falling apart. Her adrenaline rush began to slow, along with her heartrate until she managed to take stable breaths.

Opening her eyes, her heart raced again. Panic returned to her as her gaze met with the hooded visage of an undead. Was this the afterlife? Did she breathe in the fog? Was he Death? He didn’t seem to take notice of her laying right next to crate he sat upon; in fact his skull was buried in the pages of a book.

“No, no, no! what damned fools record knowledge on a pulped tree! It catches fire, it turns into must when wet! It can’t even resist acid! No wonder they’re all so bloody ignorant!” his voice seemed familiar, yet she could not recollect it. Her focus was only tuned to the fact that she was staring an undead in the face. His skull was bizarrely angular, not like any skull she’d ever seen, and in The Black Death’s company, she’d seen many. A magnificent jewel rested on his forehead, something else she’d never seen adorning a skull before. Finally, the skeleton noticed her, or at least acknowledged that she was there. She couldn’t imagine he hadn’t noticed her bust through the wall in a heap of panic. “Oh. It’s you. Shouldn’t you be… running and screaming or some such?”

She didn’t answer, her gaze glued to the skull, staring into empty eye sockets. She recognized the posture he held as he read. “You’re familiar…” she furrowed her brows, setting a hand on a nearby crate to pull herself up, still catching her breath. “Your book…”

The skeleton groaned, and looked back at his book, frantically flipping from page to page. “Yes, indeed it’s the look of someone that wants to read the bloody book he’s holding! Now if you’re really quite finished, I believe you have lifeboats to flee to.”

Nathalienne continued to stare, her hand sliding from the desk and resting briefly on the skeleton’s cold hand. Nothing. Only silence crept into her mind, no memories, no emotions. The skeleton cocked his head to the side, staring at her. "Is it custom for you to touch people when they are clearly occupied?"

Quickly pulling her hand back, she knew exactly who he was. “It’s you! Fane, the elf in the corner!” she exclaimed with fascination.

“Oh please,” he shook his head with a condescending tone. “I was no more an elf than you are those rags you’re wearing.”

“How—”

“I had a mask, rather ingeniously designed, which allowed me to take that primitive form. A mask that was stolen by that damn witch after her little ‘scene.’ Still, she’ll drown with all the rest of these fools. And I will simply pluck my mask from her cold, dead hands.”

“Fascinating…” she stared at the skeleton in awe, much like how she stared at him when she believed him to be an elf.

“NAT!” The Black Death bellowed, snapping Nathalienne back to the reality of the situation. She faced the lizard, the ship jerked, causing the elf to nearly lose her footing and hold onto the crate Fane used as a table to keep herself upright. The lizard raced over to her, not even phased by the ship’s movements. He looked to Nathalienne, then to Fane, his yellow eyes bulging as he noticed the living skeleton. Before the elf had any time to say anything, The Black Death grabbed her and pulled her behind him, his sword drawn in a fraction of a second and pointed directly at Fane’s skull. “What manner of Sourcery is this?” he snarled.

The skeleton kept his visage glued to his book, if it were possible for him to roll his eyes, Nathalienne was certain that’s what he would be doing. “How dully typical, honestly, is drawing your blade your answer for everything?”

“Black Death,” Nathalienne pushed his sword arm gently, encouraging him to lower his blade. “We have to leave.” The lizard took one step back but didn’t lower his blade. “ _He’s_ not the enemy,” the elf pushed again, tugging at her companion’s tunic.

“Yes, run along,” Fane waved his bony hand. “Go swim or drown or whatever suits you.”

The pair turned from the skeleton and hurried across the floor and up the stairs to the deck of the ship. Once they stepped outside, they were hit with a violent rage of rain and wind. The sea was angry and the ship was about to capsize. Massive tentacles suctioned onto the ship, coiling around the wood with enough force to break it. “What in all the hells is that!?” Nathalienne cried, looking to The Black Death.

“Some kind of kraken and its bringing us down! Get moving!”

Running a few paces, they slid to stop as one tentacle burst from the water and slammed down onto a surviving Magister, fleeing for his life. “GO!” The Black Death roared, slashing his sword across the tentacle, motioning for the elf to hurry along. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she readied her bow and continued to run, her bare feet almost slipping along the flooding deck. The Black Death was hot on her heels, grabbing her tunic and pulling her back as a pair of grub-like creatures slithered out in front of them. Nathalienne fired an arrow into one, piercing it right in the back. The second creature lashed out, opening its mouth and firing out what could best be described as an inner set of jaws. Biting into the elf’s ankle, Nathalienne let out a scream, pulling her arrow out from the dead creature and stabbing it into the one attacking her.

The ship continued to rock violently, Nathalienne limped her way across the deck, listening to the Magisters at the helm scream. The Black Death swept in from behind, lifting the elf in his arms and running to a lifeboat dangling over the edge of the ship. “C’mon! We’re getting you out of here!”

Nathalienne recognized the dwarf in the lifeboat, tugging at the ropes to release it into the water to no avail. A couple of children managed to get to the boat with him. “Get in or get left behind! We gotta leave now!” the dwarf shouted urgently, still pulling the ropes.

“You said there were other people down there,” a little girl, maybe eight or nine tugged the dwarf’s arm in some attempt to stop him. “We have to go help them!”

The Black Death gave Nathalienne a look that seemed to express both annoyance and concern. “Don’t even think about it!”

“You see those tentacles kid!? We have to get the hell out of here!” the dwarf shot, shoving the girl away.

The Black Death set Nathalienne down. “You heard the dwarf. Get on the boat!”

Another tentacle smashed down on the ship, crashing over a crate and revealing a ladder down to the hold. Even with her injury, she could make it down there. She knew she wouldn’t want to be left to die on a sinking boat. Pushing The Black Death to throw him off balance, she ran for the ladder.

“NAT! NAT! GODSDAMMIT ELF!” the lizard called after her as she slid down the ladder and bolted down the corridor towards the hold. Her ankle throbbed with each step she took, she clenched her teeth, attempting to ignore the pain. The surviving Sourcerers seemed to just be coming to. They must have been knocked out like she was.

“There’s a lifeboat up the ladder!” she announced, pointing down the corridor to the door where she came from. “Get yourselves to safety—”

The elf was cut off as the ship lurched forward. The same burrowing monsters that attacked her on the deck had eaten through the hull of the ship and attacked. Nathalienne drew an arrow, aiming for the first one in her line of sight.

The Black Death barreled in behind her, a look of fury radiated from his entire being. “FOR ONCE WILL YOU JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU!” he shot, suddenly noticing the creatures. “OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” he rolled his eyes and readied his weapon. Nathalienne released her arrow, striking down her foe and readied another arrow. The Black Death followed suit, lunging towards a monster that had its attention focused on a red headed woman who summoned ice to fall on it. He then moved on to the two burrowing bugs fighting the dwarf in the pirate hat and the red lizard.

“These beardless bugs won’t sink the ship on my watch!” The dwarf boasted, thrusting his hands out and turning the creature to stone. “No Voidwoken is taking me down!”

Voidwoken? Is that what these things were?

Nathalienne, shot an arrow into a Voidwoken, just hitting its back end and not striking a killing blow. She readied another arrow but the Voidwoken was suddenly struck by a grenade of poison and shot down by a stray arrow, one that wasn’t hers. Glancing upwards, the arrow was fired from a dark haired, tan-skinned man in front of her. He raised his brows to her, raising his crossbow up over his shoulder. A few paces away from the man, she noticed another elf holding a dagger in one hand and a makeshift grenade in the other.

“We have to go now!” The Black Death cut in, shoving the nearby survivors towards the exit.

Nathalienne limped forward, wincing in pain until the man grabbed her arm and slung it over his shoulder. “You won’t make it far with that injury,” he informed her, helping her move towards the ladder.

“Thanks,” she exhaled, shifting her weight off of her injured foot and holding onto the man’s shoulder for balance.

The second The Black Death caught up with them, he gave the man a suspicious glare but did not intervene. “You alright Nat?” he questioned as the man helped her onto the ladder.

“It stings like a bitch but I’m not dying. You?”

“Still pissed that you came down here. They could’ve fended for themselves,” he grunted in annoyance giving the man another look as he pulled Nathalienne onto the deck. “No offence.”

“None taken,” the man shrugged, hoisting the young elf into the boat next to one of the children.

The kraken roared, its tentacles tightening around the hull. The deck of the ship split with a great fissure. “It’s ripping the ship apart!” Nathalienne cried as the lifeboat swung violently back and forth.

“We have to go now!” the other elf shot, helping the dwarf tug at the ropes. A tentacle struck the ship right next to the lifeboat, causing the passengers to launch forward, the dwarf almost fell overboard.

The Black Death shoved the dark-haired man onto the lifeboat and drew his sword. “MOVE!” he yelled to the elf and the dwarf by the ropes, raising his sword over his head. The two immediately complied and the lizard brought his sword down, cutting the ropes and freeing the lifeboat from the ship. The children screamed as the boat fell down to the sea, the little girl that begged for the others to be saved clung to Nathalienne as though her very life depended on it.

“BLACK DEATH!” the young elf screamed, unable to see her companion still trapped aboard the sinking ship. The kraken burst through the middle of the ship, ripping the vessel in half. Its massive mouth held hundreds of razor-sharp teeth, all bitten into a chunk of wood. Nathalienne screamed, the pain of sheer grief and terror exploded through her entire being. The monstrous waves beat against the lifeboat, some of them collapsed on top of it, flooding it with water.

“She’s taking water!” one of the dwarves hollered, taking off his hat and using it as a makeshift bucket.

The elf could tell she was crying only by the warm tears contrasting against the icy rain striking her face. This couldn’t be happening! This wasn’t happening!

“THERE’S ANOTHER WAVE!” one of her shipmates yelled, pointing to the colossal tidal wave descending onto the tiny vessel.

Dropping his hat, the bearded dwarf made a hand gesture of what she assumed was a prayer. “ABANDON SHIP!”

The wave crashed down with enough force to flip the boat. Nathalienne had no time to hold her breath as she barreled into the sea. The salty water stung at her open wound, making her struggle to swim to surface even more difficult. She kicked her legs frantically and thrashed her arms, fighting the current that continually pushed her down. Finally, her head breached to the surface, a massive inhale filled her lungs. Treading the violent waves, she coughed, her head bobbing in the sea as she fought to stay afloat. She tried to get her bearings but there was only darkness and wind and rain.

Another wave struck her, forcing her back under. Her body only got weaker, the harder she fought the current. She had to breathe but the only thing that filled her lungs was water. Nathalienne went into panic, desperately trying to resurface but no matter how much she swam, she only continued to sink. Darkness crept over her, her limbs stopped moving and just like that…everything was gone.

Floating. That’s what it felt like. Nathalienne’s body hovered inches off the ground, hovering in a welcoming warmth. Everything was dark, yet light at the same time. Was this what death felt like? A blinding brightness shone on her closed eyes, making her close them even tighter.

_I have plans for you child. Rise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be tackling Fort Joy, which should be lots of fun. Hope you guys are liking the story so far!


	4. Lost in Fort Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathalienne wakes up on Fort Joy's beach and finds some fellow survivors on the Merryweather.

Nathalienne opened her eyes and heaved. A slosh of sea water forced its way from her mouth as she coughed, rolling onto her side and hacking up more and more. Clambering onto her hands and knees, the elf curled her back like a cat, her body desperately trying to purge the water out of her lungs and replace them with air. Her hands clenched into hot sand as she was finally able to take a giant breath of air. Droplets of water beaded at the ends of her hair, slowly dripping to the ground as she remained on all fours trying to catch her breath. Pushing off of her hands, Nathalienne balanced onto her feet, taking in the vast scenery of the tropical beach she stood within.

Holding onto her arm with the opposite hand, Nathalienne blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She was lost and she was alone. The Black Death was gone. She refused to believe him dead, but the odds of him ending up stranded on the same island as she would be nothing short of a miracle. Exploring the beach, the elf gazed in wonder at the massive rock faces and ruins that stuck out from the white sand. Climbing up onto the steps of a ruin, she faced a magnificent statue of the Old Source King: Braccus Rex. _What would a statue of the Source King be doing out here?_ she wondered. Her pondering came to a halt when she saw a young boy just down a rocky set of steps east of the statue. He wore a Source collar, just like she did. He held a mirror, tilting it this way and that, examining his face closely.

“Boy,” she waved to him, a sense of relief came over her. At least she wasn’t the only one alive on this island.

“I’m not supposed to talk to elves!” the boy lowered his mirror and scowled at her.

She had to admit she was taken aback by that. Many people refused to speak to her due to her heritage, but never a child.

“Why can’t you speak to elves? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Well…elves eat people and their pets. Elves don’t know the alphabet.”

Nathalienne could not help but laugh. The cannibalism thing she understood but illiteracy too? “I can promise you I’d never eat someone’s pet. And we only eat people who ask us to,” she couldn’t speak for all elves on that but the flesh of the dead always seemed to call to her when they needed to tell their stories.

The boy’s eyes went wide. “You mean…” he trailed off. “People _ask_ you to eat them?”

“That’s how they share their stories when they can’t speak anymore.”

“Wow.”

“What is this place?” Nathalienne questioned after a brief silence.

“You don’t know? This is Fort Joy. You’re better off staying on the beach. It’s safer here.” the boy pulled the mirror back to his face.

The elf scrunched her face. Regardless of the Voidwoken in the sea, she believed the child’s claim. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing what this place had in store for her. There couldn’t be anything good coming from the Magisters who collared her like a beast. Yet even if she were to escape the island, where would she go? She was always alongside The Black Death for as long as she could remember. Nathalienne had little hope of finding him but it wouldn’t hurt her to look anyways. She ventured west, away from the boy and back down to the beach, following the sandy path that weaved between the rocks and ruins. Divine Order flags hung from the ruins and stood tall on golden posts. She imagined the Fort was further ahead.

Continuing along the beach, her eyes fixed on a lizard in the distance. She could only see his outline but it was enough for a moment of hope to fill her very soul. In a rush of excitement, she dashed forward, kicking up sand behind her as she ran. _Thank the gods! He…_ Nathalienne stopped. The lizard, now in full view, was not The Black Death. Her heart sank and a lump formed in her throat as though she were about to cry. Pushing the emotion down, she continued towards the scarlet lizard, recognizing him from the ship.

The aforementioned lizard stood atop a rocky peak, overlooking the serene waters with a solemn malcontent stare. Now that the waves were calm and the skies were clear, the ocean didn’t look so terrifying as it did the previous night. Nathalienne pondered if it would be a good idea to even speak to him, considering his intentions on the ship. And after The Black Death threatened him, he probably wouldn’t even want to be anywhere within her vicinity. Oddly enough, she found comfort knowing that one of her shipmates survived. It meant that The Black Death might still be out there.

“Um…” she hesitated, about to change her mind about speaking to him. He turned around with the graceful ease of a dancer, or a duelist. His eyes locked onto hers, two smouldering embers that sizzled into her very soul. She gulped, once again feeling very small. He was not gruff and harsh like The Black Death. This blood red lizard had a different way of intimidating someone. “You…um…you haven’t seen another lizard pass by have you? Black scales, horns, may have called you a red bastard?” she questioned awkwardly, trying to escape his burning gaze.

A chortle escaped the lizard and he flicked his wrist nonchalantly. “Thankfully I have not, and I have little interest in seeing that oaf again.”

“Right…I thought as much,” she looked to the ground, unsure why she might have expected anything else.

“I will say this to you elf,” he continued. “Chances are I would not have survived the wreck, had you not returned to the aid of your fellow passengers down in that dreadful hold. You have my gratitude.” He placed his hand over his heart and gave her a salute with a bob of the head, more than a nod but less than a bow.

“Well it doesn’t do to stand idly by when people are in danger. I certainly wouldn’t want to be left to die,” she shrugged.

“Yes, I’m sure you have all the makings of a hero and all that but let’s not get carried away, shall we?” he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nevertheless, one good turn does deserve another, so as far as the whole ‘would be slave’ thing and your brute lizard threatening to disembowel me goes, let’s just let bygones be bygones. I have no quarrel with you. Your lizard friend on the other hand, well…”

Nathalienne held her hands up. “Let bygones be bygones,” she gave the lizard a half smile and set one hand on her hip. “Is there a reason you’re standing on that rock? Pretty sure that’s not the best place to avoid Magisters.”

The lizard’s expression dropped. “I’m sure I don’t mean to sound condescending, but I had thought it quite self-evident I was gazing out over the waves,” he sighed dramatically, beckoning the elf to come forward. She took a couple steps up onto the rock, facing the vast open water ahead. “Tell me, what do you see when you cast your glance over the ocean?”

The elf focused, her gaze scanning the sea, the waves turning. A faint hum rang in her ears like a song. The water began to swirl in a beautiful dance, taking the shapes of the dead that lingered in its depths. “Dancing…” she cocked her head to the side.

“Dancing?” the lizard looked bemused.

“The dead that linger here are no longer sad, they found freedom, they dance…”

“You have an affinity for talking to spirits I take it?”

“It’s an elf thing,” she shrugged, telling him the exact same thing The Black Death told her.

“No, it isn’t” the lizard tapped his forefinger to his lips, glancing at her for a moment before he turned back and faced the waves. She ignored his comment and gazed out over the water too, enjoying the hum and dance of the freed souls. It was nice to see them happy, even if they met such a tragic fate. “As for myself,” the lizard spoke, a small smile on his face as he could recall a happier time. “When I consider this vast expanse before us, I see an empire. I see continents dotted with mighty cities, and shimmering along the soft curve of the sea’s horizon, I picture the palaces that formed my paradise…lost.”

Nathalienne reached her hand out, about to touch the vibrant red scales on his arm but pulled back. The way he spoke, she couldn’t help but want to see it. However, she was quickly able to retract, knowing full well not many people enjoyed having their thoughts invaded. “That’s a pretty specific vision, why do you see such an empire?”

“Well of course it’s rather _specific_! Quite obviously I’m musing over the very actual empire that I lost!” he stared at her with utter incredulity, having the air of being deeply offended. “Well don’t just stand there gawking like an ape at an abacus! Or do you really mean to tell me _you don’t know who I am_?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Well, more’s the damn pity isn’t it? For I am The Red Prince. The All-Conqueror. The World Tamer. The Spouse of the Sun. _Of course_ you know me!” he pauses, his grandiloquent pose deflating ever so slightly. “That said, I suppose I must own up to the fact that I find myself rather in between all-conquering and world-taming opportunities at the moment. The grandeur that is my fate has…hit a bit of a snag, but never you worry: for the throne I was destined, and my throne I _shall_ have!”

She kept her mouth shut, not wanting to offend him further by saying she wasn’t worried in the slightest about him and his throne. Instead she merely offered a smile, unsure of what else to say. “I imagine you’ll want to get off this island, I have this and that to do but you’re welcome to tag along…if you want.”

The Red Prince stared at her as if she’d just slapped his mother. “This and that? Tag along? You’re comparing my reclaiming of an empire with whatever melancholy you seek to fix?”

“I didn’t mean it quite like that,” she shifted her gaze from side to side, her hands fidgeting.

“Although you do seem trustworthy enough,” the prince pursed his lips in contemplation. “And you did come back for us on the ship after all. Fine, I accept. On two conditions. For reasons I’ll not disclose right now, it is imperative that I should meet with a Dreamer: one of the mystics of my kind. I’ve reason to believe one of them may be present on this island. Promise me we’ll look for him, and I’ll extend you the blessing of my company.”

“And the second condition?” Nathalienne raised a brow.

“Ah, yes. The second condition is that if that low life brute of a lizard you call a friend turns up alive and dares to challenge me again, I will not spare him.”

“I can’t speak for The Black Death, but if we find him and he threatens you, I’ll tell him that you and I have a truce. He shouldn’t make any attempt to hurt you so long as he believes you’re no danger to me. I _can_ give you my word that I’ll help you find this Dreamer,” Nathalienne mimicked his earlier action of placing a hand over her heart and bowing her head slightly.

“Jolly good,” The Red Prince nodded, giving her a smile that delicately wavered between courtesy and contempt. “Now as you’re aware you’ll be travelling with a prince. Proper forms of address include ‘Your Majesty,’ ‘Your Royal Highness,’ or if you’re feeling particularly frivolous, ‘Milord.’”

Nathalienne was slowly starting to regret her decision of offering her companionship. She smiled awkwardly; this wasn’t exactly the type of lizard comrade she was used to. “Alright, _milord_ , you can call me Nathalienne. Let’s go find this Dreamer.” She led the way down the beach, catching the look from The Red Prince as if she’d said something wrong. He sighed and rolled his eyes, taking his place next to her and keeping her pace.

She wasn’t exactly sure where to start searching for a Dreamer. He may have been further along in the Fort. As she roamed down the beach, she didn’t see any other captives. This place might as well have been an abandoned ruin. As the Red Prince continued forward, Nathalienne stopped, staring absently at a dangling curtain of ivy. The vines reached forward and curled back in, like a person would use their finger to beckon someone over. The scarlet lizard turned his head, pivoting gracefully on his foot and returning to her.

“If we are to find this Dreamer, we need to keep going forward,” he stated as if he were speaking to an idiot. “What in blazes are you staring at?”

“I need to go in there,” she said flatly, ignoring the lizard’s condescending tone. She moved forward, oblivious to her new companion rolling his eyes once again and making an audible groan as though this were beneath him. Brushing her fingers against the vines, a coil of emotions burst around her. The ones that passed through here were afraid, they sought safety but they had yet to find it. “There are people in here,” the elf stated, her tone still flat as though she were not entirely there.

“Well unless those people include the Dreamer I am searching for—where are you going?” The Red Prince cocked his head to the side as Nathalienne ignored him still and stepped through the plant life, finding a vast open space of greenery that jutted out into a cliff. A tangle of vines climbed up a rock face, leading somewhere else. That was where the people were. She could feel them.

Puddles of green ooze, spread around the grass, bubbling something noxious. A corpse lay in the middle of the grass, it was clearly obvious that he’d met his fate from making contact with the vibrant green poison. Kneeling in front of the corpse was a hooded figure, from where she stood, it looked like he was pulling at the corpse’s face.

“Are you quite satisfied with wasting my time?” The Red Prince complained, looking down on her as an utter inconvenience.

Nathalienne inhaled sharply. The Black Death may not have understood or liked her episodes, but he never _whined_ like this. He got frustrated, but whenever she veered off from his path, he simply followed and kept his sword handy. She faced the prince; her expression was equally as annoyed as his. “I _promise_ you; we will find who you’re looking for milord,” she glanced back to the hooded figure near the corpse and then to the vines. “I need you to trust me, alright. The people here…they know something. They might be able to help us get out of here.”

“I don’t put much stock in whatever makes you so certain there’s hope of escape up there. But for now, I will trust your word.”

“Thank you,” she exhaled, moving closer to the hooded man but her eyes fixated on the corpse at his feet. It jerked its head to the side, its neck popping as it faced her. It groaned loudly, its mouth opening wider than humanly possible. The groan turned to a wail, a wail that only reached her ears. An audible gasp escaped her lips.

“Gah! No! Stay back! Don’t…”

The corpse was just that, a corpse decaying from poison that seeped into the soil around them. Her eyes darted to the hooded man she had startled, his bandaged hand gripping his weapon behind him. Peering under his hood, Nathalienne was only met with empty sockets and bone.

“Fane?” she questioned in disbelief, looking to the Red Prince, then to the corpse and then back to Fane.

“Oh. It’s you,” Fane eased his arm back to his side. “I must admit, I’m surprised. Perhaps you’re more buoyant than I suspected.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Of all the places you could go, why come to a prison isle?”

“It seems the human that stole my mask was rather more resourceful than I gave her credit for. I chased her here, but she rather seems to have ‘given me the slip’. Thus…” he bent back down to the corpse and cautiously prodded at its face, almost in a similar manner he prodded at her on the ship.

“I believe the ones you were so keen on meeting are up there,” The Red Prince huffed, gesturing his hand to the cliff above. It was obviously clear the prince had never heard a thing about patience.

“We need to get rid of that poison first, mind burning it?” she questioned with a twitch in her eye. She could recall The Black Death breathing fire many a time. All lizards could do it too, he said. She remembered when she was still a child and she would beg him to teach her how. He would laugh for minutes on end.

“I am not a hound to be commanded to breathe fire and do tricks,” The Red Prince put on airs, causing the elf to rub her temples with her fingers.

“ _Please_ , Your Majesty, can you burn the poison? It would be a great help, I’ll be right behind you,” she emphasized the please and tried her hardest to bite back on the sarcasm when she referred to him by his title. Regardless he seemed to read cette sarcasm like a book.

“Sarcasm is not becoming on you.” He stared at her begrudgingly and took a step forward. Inhaling, the lizard’s throat glowed a bright orange and with the exhale, bright hot flames poured from his mouth, igniting everything in its path. “The flames should extinguish in a few moments elf; I trust you’ll be quite finished gabbering by then.”

“Charming fellow. Almost as friendly as that other lizard you kept in your company,” Fane muttered sarcastically, gripping the corpse by the ears and tugging upwards. “Bugger!”

“You have no idea,” Nathalienne took a quick glance to the lizard, standing by the flames with his arms crossed and his foot tapping. Noticing Fane’s interest in the body, she crouched down. “Something valuable on him?”

“Ah yes, a very common but valuable commodity, a face.” the skeleton replied, tugging the corpse’s face again.

“A face?” the elf knit her brow.

“A face that seems rather stubbornly attached to his skull. I would normally employ a tool to delicately but viciously, rip the face from the body. I could then craft a mask to hide my bone, but as I lack such a tool…”

“And you need a mask…” she started, not necessarily asking why, moreso putting pieces together.

“Because my own was stolen from me!” Fane snapped, pulling the body by the cheeks and giving a frustrated grunt. “And the idea of being chased across Rivellon by every idiot with a torch does not appeal! ‘Ah! Get away! Monster! Hide the children!’” he waved his arms in a mocking manner. “Ugh.”

“That…must be frustrating,” Nathalienne empathised, checking on the flames that still burned.

“You are simple beasts. And you simply do not like my – well not _my_ kind, but those that look like me. So, if I am to traverse this land, I will need a mask to hide my features.”

“I could help you…i-if you like,”

The skeleton paused, as though he were contemplating her offer. “I suppose, circumstances being what they are, it could be advantageous. You seem more…at ease in this world than I. A guide would certainly be useful.”

The flames on the ground finally burnt out, and with it came the increasingly impatient Prince. “As much as I hate to interrupt this little…whatever it is, the path is clear.”

“And you say sarcasm is unbecoming of me?” the elf smirked coyly to the lizard, gesturing to Fane. “Milord, this is Fane, he will be accompanying us.

“Oh good we’re taking the company of the living dead,” The Red Prince scoffed looking Fane up and down with heavy disapproval in his expression. “Shall we?” he gestured his hand once more.

Nathalienne gave Fane an apologetic face and started her way up the vines. This companionship she’d grouped together would be…well, an experience that was for sure. It was certainly going to be a lot louder than travelling with The Black Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will delve into The Black Death's survival. Please leave a like/comment if you're liking the story. See you guys next chapter :)


	5. A Lizard, A Dwarf and A Bard Walk Into A Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Death washes up on Fort Joy and searches for Nathalienne.

“Daddy! Where have you been?”

Glowing green lights danced around the horned lizard, taking shape of a small house by the water. _I’m home,_ he thought moving through the heavens as though he carried no weight.

“We’ve been waiting for you Daddy! Mummy look! Do you see him?”

“I see him Aayla, go say hello.”

If his heart hadn’t already stopped beating from death, it would have stopped right now. Running from the around the corner of the home was his daughter. She looked exactly as he remembered her, she was exactly the same. She had the same turquoise scales as her mother, but she got his horns. Many said the horns were not suited to her femininity, but she would look them in the eye and say their frills couldn’t stab someone in the face. The young lizard leapt into his arms and for a moment, The Black Death cried. _I’m home,_ he thought holding the little girl’s hand as she eagerly pulled her towards her mother. His mate, his Ohrenna.

“We’ve been waiting for you Jahrys,” Ohrenna smiled, gently resting a taloned hand on his cheek. “Aayla’s been asking every day when her Daddy would be coming home.”

“Ohrenna…” he choked back a sob, his demeanour was faltering as he held her hand in his. “I’m so sorry, I should have…I should have been better to you, to Aayla. If I had just…”

“Shh,” she moved her hand away and lifted their child into her arms. “You’re here with us now love.”

Pain suddenly erupted in his arm, causing him to inhale sharply.

“Daddy!?” Aayla shouted in concern. “Daddy what’s wrong?”

The pain grew sharper, as though something were biting into his arm and threatening to rip it from his body. He clenched his teeth and gripped onto his shoulder. What was this?” Ohrenna and Aayla became blurry, their faces distorted as they were slowly disappearing.

“Jahrys!?” Ohrenna cried, reaching an arm towards her.

A bright golden light blinded him, a light taking shape of another lizard, one adorned in grand armour. Her clawed finger tapped him on the forehead and pushed him down.

_“I have plans for you child, rise.”_

“NO! NO!” he wailed, his family shrinking as he fell down, down, down.

* * *

Salty water spewed from his mouth in a violent cough. Gnawing pain tugged at his arm, threatening to pull the shoulder from its socket. He was being dragged. Low growls made the very ground beneath him vibrate. The Black Death leaned his head back, shooting his violent yellow gaze up along his arm, finding it in the jaws of a massive crocodilian. His brow furrowed, rage boiled up inside of him. He was home! He was finally back with them and...

The crocodile loosened its toothy vice on the lizard’s arm, allowing him to jerk free. His scales sliced open as they ripped through the beast’s teeth. Flipping onto his stomach and coughing up another slosh of water, The Black Death jolted to his feet. Three crocodiles surrounded him, all of them viciously staring him down with beady eyes and bloody jaws. Having lost his weapon in the sea, the lizard bared his teeth and claws. He’d kill these beasts with his bare hands if he had to! He was pissed, and killing things happened to be very therapeutic for him.

He lunged for the first one, his giant arms wrapping tightly around the beast’s neck. His claws gripped into its thick hide. The Black Death had the advantage of being on the crocodile’s back. So long as he kept his hold and didn’t get thrown off, he’d keep that advantage. The crocodile thrashed about, turning its head and snapping its jaws eagerly trying to get the lizard off its back. The other two would take a snap occasionally, when they were able to get in on their fight. Pinning the beast’s neck under his legs, he balled his fist into the opposite hand and proceeded to bash the crocodile’s skull like a hammer.

Grunts and roars sounded along the beach. Rage built up in the lizard’s core, his Source charging but unable to be freed. Blood splattered in the sand. He was _home._ He was with them again! And some damned twist of fate brought him back! The Black Death screamed, a scream that mixed his rage with grief. Tears and blood streaked down his face. Whoever brought him back from the Hall of Echoes would feel his wrath! He continued bludgeoning the crocodile, even though it had been laying limp for some time. No amount of violence could satiate him. Vibrant yellow eyes glared to the other two predators, who seemed more interested in the corpse of their fallen friend. It didn’t matter. His rage would not allow them to live.

Sitting on a rock with hands covered in blood and reptile entrails, The Black Death focused on his breathing. Calmness began to ease into his existence with each exhale. The remains of the crocodiles lay bleeding in the sand and rotting in the sun. The lizard took one last breath and moved from his rock, following the path along the beach. Now that death wasn’t his prime directive, he went to the next one: finding Nat.

Walking solemnly along the beach, the lizard’s ears perked to the noise of something being repeatedly struck, like a hammer beating a nail. Irritation began to seep into his just calmed demeanour. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. His teeth clenched as the noise got louder, the source of his irritation was coming from behind the wreckage of an old ship. Clenching his fists and turning round the corner, ready to make the noise stop, he found a dwarf. The Black Death furrowed his brow. He knew this man. He watched for a moment as the dwarf struggled to pull a plank of wood free from the wreckage, muttering curses under his breath and beating at the wood.

Rolling his eyes, The Black Death moved over silently, grabbing the plank with one hand and ripping it free from the ship, nearly elbowing the dwarf in the face as he did so. The plank splintered in his hands, crumbling to nothing of use. The dwarf stared at him, the lizard stared back, unsure what expression was being conveyed. Passing over the tattered pieces of wood, he shrugged.

“Eh...thanks,” the dwarf raised a brow and tossed him a coin. “For your trouble.”

A chuckle involuntarily left The Black Death’s mouth. “That junk isn’t worth a coin.”

“No. But I’d hope to build something with it that’d be worth a thousand. It were a fool’s errand, thinkin’ I could make something outta this heap, but I couldn’t help myself from trying,” he sucked a finger and held it out in the wind, testing the breeze. “Winds like these...she would have capsized before she reached the break. Well! On to plan B.”

The lizard crossed his arms, looking the dwarf up and down. “And what is plan B?” If he was planning an escape, he’d be a good ally to have. At least for the time being. Of course, he wasn’t going anywhere without Nat. The dwarf gave him a wry look, he was familiar with that look. The dwarf was trying to figure out if he could trust him or not.

“Not quite sure yet. Was planning to build me a raft and paddle off. I’ve got business north of here in a town called Driftwood. Far be it from me to miss an appointment.”

“I know Driftwood, if you’re planning an escape, I want in.”

“That’s the spirit!” the dwarf bellowed and made a gesture to lift an invisible hat before taking a bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. The name’s...well, the name’s dead and buried. What matters is what they call me: _Beast_.”

A smirk found its way to The Black Death’s lips. He knew that name, many a tavern told tales of the dwarf Beast. He may have found quite the ally indeed. “I know the name very well. They say you swiped enough property from the Dwarven Royal Fleet to buy a small island. They call me The Black Death.”

“Aye. I’m familiar with the name. Considered hirin’ you once but you’re a difficult lizard to get in touch with,” Beast jested, taking his stride next to The Black Death as the lizard continued along. “Got any ideas on gettin’ off this rock?”

“Kill the Magisters and go from there. I need to find someone here first. An elf, she was on the ship with us.”

“Sure, just kill all the Magisters with no weapons and no numbers. I like yer spirit lad but what yer suggestin’ is a suicide mission. Maybe leave the strategy plannin’ to me, you focus on findin’ yer elf friend,” Beast clapped him on the back and took the lead, showing him to the square.

Sourcerers scurried back and forth between tents, all wore rags and collars, none were Nat. Matter of fact, there were hardly any elves in the square, most of the Sourcerers here were human, and a lot of them were glaring at him. Of course some of them may have known him for his reputation, he was a mercenary for hire, his name got around. “Any of these people sell weapons?” he questioned Beast, scanning through the mass of people.

“Aye, best bet is to check the kitchens. Apparently there’s a man called Griff who runs this place. I’d bet my breeches he’ll have a selection.”

The Black Death motioned his hand forward, encouraging Beast to lead the way. He clearly knew his way around the Fort. He might as well take advantage of that. Swerving between the hustle and bustle in the square, the lizard was beginning to feel confined. He and the other Sourcerers were being packed into this island like crates. The Black Death much preferred it out on the beach with the crocodiles.

“Excuse me sir,” a man cut into his path, his voice hushed and secretive. The Black Death snarled at the man in response. His eyes went wide with fear and he took a step back from the agitated lizard.“Are you...are you quite alone?” he continued, he must have been desperate or stupid if he didn’t recognize that a snarl from an angry lizard meant ‘run or you’ll die.’

“Fuck off.” The Black Death aggressively shoved the man out of his way, hoping this distraction didn’t make him lose Beast in the crowd.

A woman with red curly hair almost seamlessly slid between him and the man. “I’m alone,” she smiled, jutting her hip out and crossing her arms. The Black Death couldn’t tell if she was legitimately interested in his proposal or was just trying to stop an inevitable blood bath. Either way, he didn’t care.

“Thought you were happy following ‘the pretty elf,’” the man scoffed, causing The Black Death to stop dead in his tracks.

“I was. But things got weird,” she stated casually. “We were a bit too much for each other, y’know?”

Beast returned to the lizard’s side, his brow raised. “I know it’s easy to get lost in this crowd but try and keep up will ya? I made it all the way to Griff before I realized you weren’t with me.”

The Black Death held a finger to his lips, miming for Beast to shut up. “Where’s the elf now?” he demanded, loudly enough for the woman to know he was talking to her.

“What?”

He pivoted on the balls of his feet, his hand whipping forward and grabbing the woman’s shoulder with a vice like grip and forcing her to look at him. “The elf, did she tell you her name? Where is she?” his voice grew louder, coarser, causing onlookers to stop and stare at the commotion.

“Eh mate, if you’re lookin’ for information, shouting demands at strangers might not be the best way to go about it...” Beast gestured to the bystanders, some of them had weapons drawn to come to the lady’s defence.

“You crazy or something?” the woman shot, pushing The Black Death just enough to distance herself from him.

“Just answer the fucking question!” he bared his teeth. “The elf. Where. Is. She?”

Suddenly blackness began to pool into the woman’s once blue eyes, spreading outwards. Greyish-black veins spilled down her cheeks and a cruel sneer stretched onto her lips. Just as quickly as they appeared, she blinked, her eyes blue, her skin rosy and freckled. She shook her curly hair as if nothing had even happened. The Black Death furrowed his brow, unable to ignore the voice in his head saying something bad happened to Nat. Something bad happened to her and this woman was the reason why.

“What was that?” The Black Death demanded, looking at the woman, then to Beast. “You saw that right?”

“Aye mate, I saw it. And I really think you need to calm down before things get outta hand,” Beast made a gesture with his hands, a silent way of telling the lizard to reign it in.

“It’s nothing, it’s just...I’m just a bit...well, a bit _hospitable_.” the woman half smiled, awkwardly shrugging her shoulders.

“Hospitable?”

“Look, you’ve never been a...a host right? That’s cause you’re like...a clump of leaves on the side of the road. That ain’t bad though. I’d give just about anything to be like you. But I’m a... roadside inn. Red door, flowers out front, friendly lady at the door beckoning you in for half price. Like a godsdamn gold star inn for the disembodied.”

The Black Death locked his jaw, his patience was wearing thin. “And this thing you’re hosting?”

“Now isn’t that just the question of the hour. I can’t be sure just yet. I’ll be surprised if its a demon. Definitely not a sprite, either. M-a-a-a-ybe a spectre, but I wouldn’t bet money on it. ”

“And the elf?” he pressed, attempting to come off as a bit more approachable about it. It wasn’t working too well.

“Ah, yeah her. Well...she’s sorta like me y’know? I mean she’s no roadside inn for spirits but she’s no clump of leaves either.”

There was no denying it now. That had to be Nat. It _had_ to be. “Where is she?”

“There’s a cave along the beach. That’s where I saw them last, y’know before they chased me off. I’m not bitter or nothin’ I get it, not everyone can handle a host. I’m sure your elf friend is more than enough mystic they can handle.”

“ _They_?”

“Yeah, she was with a big red lizard and some hooded man who’s probably not wearing skin if you catch my drift.”

“Fuck!” The Black Death cursed, grabbing the woman by the wrist and pulling her forward.

“Hey! What in all the hells are you doing!?”

“That elf is like my child, you’re gonna take me to her. And if I find out your little passenger did something to her, I’ll snap you like a stick!”

“You sure know how to sweet talk a woman. You should at least take me to dinner first, maybe get my name...it’s Lohse, just thought you’d wanna know exactly who you’re snapping.”

“Shut. Up.” The Black Death took a big inhale, attempting to soothe his temper. “Take me to the elf. Now.”

“Can I get a please at least?” Lohse waited but was only met by the lizard’s impatient glower. “Or not. That’s fine too, just follow me then.”

He didn’t give her much distance. He wanted to make sure she was within reach in case she tried to make a break for it. Beast also remained close by as to not get lost in the crowd again. They cut through the ‘kitchens’ as the other prisoners called it but it certainly wasn’t a kitchen. It was just a man with a cook pot and a bunch of goons.

“Keep on moving snake-face!” a bald man tightened his grip on his staff. The Black Death snarled at him but kept close behind Lohse. He wasn’t going to lose his chance of finding Nat just to crush a man’s skull. The Black Death kept his head forward, locked on Lohse’s red curls swaying as she walked.

They made it out of the crowds and onto the beach. The cave Lohse spoke of jutted out from the sand, a giant face of black rock shrouded in greenery. It was by no means concealed, how the Magisters simply ignored it was beyond him. The nooks and crannies were the first places he’d check for prisoners hiding away. The Black Death and Beast followed Lohse into the cave, a cave that only had a few elves, a couple children and a lizard. He grabbed Lohse roughly by the shoulder and shook her. “You said she was here!”

“She _was_ here! Past tense. Remember the whole bit where they kicked me out?”

“Fuck!”

“Don’t worry lad, I’m sure your friend didn’t go too far. Lohse said she’s got travel mates with her, I’m sure she’s safe,” Beast reassured him, gesturing to the others that resided in the cave. “We got a whole cave full of witnesses. I’m sure someone can tell you where she went.”

The Black Death faced the lizard guarding the cave’s entrance. He wore armour, it wasn’t the greatest armour by any means, but it was better than the rags the rest of them were stuck in. “There was an elf here, light hair, a bit...eccentric. Did you speak to her?”

“House,” the lizard responded, crossing his arms and staring him down with intense eyes.

The Black Death rolled his eyes. _Of course_. Only lizards from the House of War would be so prideful. The concept of their houses should mean nothing to them, not here. Aside from that, he’d left the Empire a very long time ago, he had long since forfeit his house. “Fuck the houses and answer the question.”

The lizard snarled. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear treacherous words like that from the infamous Black Death. I thought I recognized you, we once fought side by side. Before you betrayed your house and betrayed your people.”

“The Empire still has a stick up its ass about that little incident I take it?” The Black Death smirked and crossed his arms.

“Little incident? You call smuggling Princess Rhella out of the Empire and killing a half dozen nobles from the House of Dreams a ‘little incident?’”

“She hired me to perform a service. I performed. I’m not here to reminisce about the good old days. Did you see the elf or not?”

“I saw her. After that one attacked her, she sounded like she’d gone mad. They traded for weapons and left,” he pointed to Lohse, keeping his other hand on the hilt of his blade.

The Black Death narrowed his gaze onto Lohse, his rage seeping from his scales.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Lohse took a step back, her arms outstretched, expecting the lizard to throttle her.

“Mate, before y’go on a rampage, you might want to remember that nobody died,” Beast interjected, once again playing the mediator before the lizard went on a killing spree.

The Black Death composed himself, but his expression remained hardened and fixed on Lohse. “Tell me _exactly_ what happened!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a hard time writing this since I normally don't play with Lohse and Beast in my party. But I do kinda like the dynamic they have. Anyways, next chapter will be up soon and as usual please leave a like/comment if you're enjoying the story so far.


	6. The Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Prince and Fane see Nat's abilities first hand. The party is joined by Lohse. Nat sees a demon.

_Atusa._ Nathalienne scrunched her face as she followed behind The Red Prince. Atusa. She was meant to help, that’s what the elf on the cliff said. If Atusa was smuggling Sourcerers off the island, perhaps there were others. Her desire to climb those vines was not as much a waste of time as The Red Prince claimed it was. Nathalienne briefly glanced at the scarlet lizard ahead of her. He kept a steady pace, trying to ‘make up for lost time.’ Next to her was Fane, he had little to say about a potential Magister resistance, matter of fact, he had little to say at all. Finally, behind them was the latest stray to join the party: a black cat.

They all travelled in silence, all but the cat who would occasionally meow and ask Nathalienne what was going on. The poor guy seemed dazed and confused but he’d been following her since they left the alcove, so she assumed he wanted to hang around. At least he was willing to talk to her. Not that she had attempted striking up a conversation with her two legged companions, she had no idea what to say. How would one initiate a conversation between a pompous lizard and a living skeleton? Honestly, it was much easier to just talk to the cat.

The Red Prince halted, holding his fist up as a way to tell his companions to follow suit. Nathalienne cocked her head to the side, looking at the scene in front of them. A confrontation of some sort, a group of Magisters, clad in red and white robes. In the centre was a lizard, a lizard being accused of helping Sourcerers escape...Atusa. The elf ducked under The Red Prince’s arm, stepping forward only a few paces before one of Atusa’s accusers shot her head to the side. Her harsh green eyes radiated something sinister as she snarled at the elf. “Stand back Sourcerer, and stay silent! Our Godwoken speaks!”

The cat at her heels hissed and arched its back. Clad in tattered Magister garb, two ghastly creatures stood behind the lizard. They both craned their necks in the elf’s direction, their bony fingers raised to where she assumed their mouths were, hidden under hoods. “Shhhh.”

The cat growled and kept his stance at Nathalienne’s feet. Finally the ‘Godwoken’ spoke. He stepped towards Atusa, his posture rigid, his face regal. He wore a crown, carried a great staff, and was garbed in the finest silks ever worn. Yet he was collared – he was a Sourcerer. He was like them.

Her skin felt cold, the hairs on her arms stood up on end. Faint ringing drowned out the noise before her. For a brief moment, Nathalienne could see grey bodies in the same garb other Sourcerers were dressed in circling around the scene, their eyes nothing but black pits, their decrepit, blackened fingers all pointed at him.

_Alexander, Alexander._

_His order murdered us. His order tortured us._

_Bishop Alexander. You murdered us. You murdered us. YOU MURDERED US!_

“We know you’ve been helping Sourcerers escape Atusa. We have proof,” Bishop Alexander spoke in a calm yet firm tone. His brown eyes were half lidded, red and puffy as though he wasn’t getting much sleep. No rest for the wicked, and looking at the spirits that surrounded him, he was indeed wicked.

The lizard feigned ignorance, her expression wide-eyed like a doe. “I would sooner cut my tongue out than lie to you Alexander! I know nothing of any escapees!”

The woman in front of her sneered. Strands of white-blonde hair framed her face, making her features appear sharper, crueler. “If you can tell the Godwoken no more your tongue is of no use. Cut it out!”

“You can’t be serious Alexander! Come...” Atusa trembled, frantically looking to Alexander.

“You should know by now to obey your superior – whatever she may ask,” the Bishop cast his glance to the side, showing Atusa she would not gain his sympathies.

“Only the gods can pass such a judgement!” the words left Nathalienne’s mouth against her will. Something... _someone_ wanted to be heard, but it wasn’t the spirits surrounding them. Whatever it was...it was stronger than a dead spirit. Her body involuntarily leaned forward but stopped when the Red Prince firmly gripped onto her shoulder.

“STAY SILENT, ELF!” the stone-faced woman barked, her hand reaching for the hammer mounted on her back as a warning.

Atusa exhaled, drawing a dagger from her robes, her hand shaking as she brought it to her mouth. Her clawed fingers pinched the tip of her forked tongue and she held the dagger to its root. Slowly, she pushed the dagger in deep, drops of blood trickling down from her mouth. Her breathing quickened, her face winced in pain as she prepared to saw off her tongue with one swift motion.

“Stop!” Alexander commanded, his face filled with disgust. Atusa dropped the dagger to the ground with a _clink!_ Tears streamed from her eyes as she covered her bleeding mouth. “My father, may his soul rest in peace, would be disappointed in you Atusa. To think, you would lie to his only son – your bishop and your friend these many years. The fate of our realm hangs in the balance. If you will not help us save it, you will help the Void destroy it,” he closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Dallis...”

“Yes your holiness?” Dallis, the Magister wielding the hammer, responded with a stern expression.

“I-I believe we are done here,” he clenched his jaw, turning away with one last look to Atusa.

Dallis smirked, unsheathing her weapon and held it out in front of her effortlessly. Atusa backed away, her hands stretched out in front of her, her head shaking ‘no.’ Dallis swung her hammer, a beam of greenish-blue light shot forward, impaling the lizard and causing her to scream in agony. Nathalienne watched in horror as Atusa’s body burst like a blister. Hot blood splashed across her face while chunks of the lizard splattered all over the ground.

The elf had seen death, she had seen all kinds of death and more, but this...this made her sick. She remained still as Dallis mounted her hammer and followed Alexander and the other Magisters into Fort Joy.

“These creatures are so prone to violence,” Fane stated, taking notice of Nathalienne’s state of shock. “Naturally, the weaker specimens suffer.”

The elf furrowed her brow, looking at him with a hint of anger. _That’s_ what he had to say about this? He didn’t even seem phased by any of it.

“She was a lizard but also a Magister,” The Red Prince shrugged, sliding his hand away from Nathalienne’s shoulder. “Her punishment was fair.”

“Fair?” Nathalienne retorted, her fist clenching at her side. “She was helping people like us and you say being exploded to pieces is fair punishment for the crime?” she angrily turned from him, facing the gore splattered over the rocky path. Half of Atusa’s head lay in a pile of entrails, her exposed eye wide and staring right at the elf. Nathalienne stared right back, the sound of The Red Prince defending his word became muffled, overpowered by the screech of Atusa. Drawn in, just as she had been with Finn, Nathalienne blinked. Atusa blinked back.

“Are you even listening to me?” The Red Prince’s voice was little more than an echo in the back of her mind. Her attention only held focus on the piles of flesh before her. A dismembered hand curled up into a fist, extending one clawed digit forward. Atusa’s eye cast itself forward, urging Nathalienne to follow its gaze, to follow the finger’s direction. It all led to Atusa’s leg, still whole with the foot attached.

“What are you telling me?” she stepped forward, her bare feet now wet with blood. Her head went blank, the lizard’s memories pulsed in her head. _A young warrior from the Empire. She saw the Void, she saw the monsters. She heard Lucian’s calling. She was meant to join The Divine Order. She was meant to make a difference._

Nathalienne crouched down, her eyes entranced, her hands reaching forward to touch the cold, scaly limb. _She was wrong. This order was wrong. What they do...what they do... She helps them instead. She guides them off the island. An elf. Verdas. Verdas. Verdas! He cannot die here! He cannot!_

“He cannot die here!” the elf squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the flesh before her. “Verdas cannot die here! They’re wrong! But they know! They know!” she panicked, just as Atusa panicked when the Magisters cornered her, confronted her, accused her of a crime she was indeed guilty of. A flash of green light enveloped her and there’s nothing but pain.

Clawed fingers gripped her tunic and pulled her backwards, launching her from her trance and into reality. Her head struck the ground hard, her hands scraped on the craggy rock below her. She inhaled sharply, her vision clearing as she lost her connection to Atusa. Nathalienne scrambled to her feet, freeing herself from The Red Prince’s grasp. “Don’t!” she backed away, facing her companions. Fane was jotting something down in a blue notebook while The Red Prince merely stared at her. She couldn’t read their expressions, not that Fane in particular had the ability to show expressions since he lacked a face, but she digressed.

“Most fascinating!” the skeleton continued to write. “You shouldn’t have pulled her away, I would have been interested to see what would have happened if she continued.”

“You would find something as grotesque as that fascinating,” The Red Prince rolled his eyes, tapping his foot in annoyance. “As for you,” he scolded the elf, his ember eyes burning into her. “I expect some kind of explanation for that...whatever that was just there.”

“It’s an elf thing,” she told him again, but the stern expression on his face told her that he was not convinced.

“No, it’s not.” the scarlet lizard grit his teeth. “Do you even know what happened?”

“Will you stop talking to me like I’m stupid! I told you, it’s an elf thing, we can touch flesh and see their thoughts. I can touch you and know everything there is to know about you. It’s what elves do...that’s...that’s what The Black Death told me.”

“Well, that explains a lot. Your entire knowledge of the world and by the sounds of it your own culture, were taught to you by whom I can only assume is an illiterate half wit with a stick jammed up his arse.” The Red Prince laughed, looking down on her like he felt sorry for her.

“He knew how to read!” Nathalienne’s voice rose almost to a yell. Realizing she referred to him in the past tense, she corrected herself. “He _knows_ how to read. Just...shut up.” The lizard widened his eyes, it was likely the first time anyone had ever told him to shut up. Fane continued jotting down in his book, scribbling a few last notes before he snapped the journal shut and tucked it away in his tunic.

Standing with a grand pose, The Red Prince stared her down with searing intensity. “Might I remind you that you are talking to a prince!”

“A prince does not get respect because he’s a prince.” she shot, her fist clenching at her side. This was a mistake. She never should have invited him along. “We are not in your empire. You cannot demand my respect when you insult me and the only family I know in the same breath!” she shoved by him, feeling his rage where their skin made contact. He had half a mind to strike her down where she stood. That’s what he did to anyone who dared speak to him like she did, she saw it clear as day. Many a man, woman and even child met his whip.

Nathalienne passed through the gates, needing to gain distance from The Red Prince before his rage consumed her. At least Fane seemed disinterested in their little scene as, so far, he’d said very little to her and perhaps that was best. The Red Prince on the other hand was not dropping it. She could hear him come up behind her, his arm reaching forward to grab her. “We’re not done he—”

“Dear one!” a woman’s voice called to her. Nathalienne snapped her attention to her left - another elf. She was a bit shorter than her with short violet hair, she had never seen an elf with hair like that. Her eyes were large and dark, her face sharp with triangle shaped features. Nathalienne raised a brow to her kin, observing the situation. She was being confronted by two humans, a man and a woman, both gruff in appearance. “Help me teach this beast! He must _respect_!” the elf pleaded.

The man chortled. “Respect? Ha! Someone’s gotta keep this place runnin’. Griff can’t do it for free. Why d’you gotta make this so hard?”

An intense looking man stepped between the thug and the elf and rolled up his sleeves, revealing well-muscled and heavily-scarred arms. Nathalienne vaguely recognized him from the ship, he helped her get to the lifeboat but she couldn’t recall his name.

“Just stand aside, why don’tcha mate. This is no business of yours.”

“Lone Wolves decide their own business,” he bared his teeth; teeth with unusually pointed canines for a human. Perhaps it was a thing ‘Lone Wolves’ did to look more wolfish.

The Red Prince gave Nathalienne a glare that easily said ‘don’t you dare waste my time and get involved in this, while Fane merely observed in silence. The thug froze for a moment, before shuffling back to the protection of his lady crony. “Pay up elf. No one shorts Griff, ‘specially not one of _you_.”

“One of _her_?” Nathalienne stepped forward, taking a stand next to the tanned man with pointy teeth and staring the white-haired thug down with intense hatred.

“Everyone in camp’s got to contribute. For food. For protection. No exceptions, especially not for _elves_. Griff’s orders.”

The way he continued to emphasize elves made Nathalienne grit her teeth. This wasn’t about everyone paying a fair price for some crime lord. It was a shakedown. They were preying on elves, elves that were clearly struggling enough as it was.

“Food? Protection? I have neither.” The other elf argued, balling her hands into fists.

“Sounds like she shouldn’t have to pay for a service she’s not benefiting from,” Nathalienne took a step forward, her eyes locked on the club hanging from the thug’s belt.

“You two ought to be thankin’ yer lucky gods it’s us and not the Magisters enforcin’ ‘round here. A fool never knows what they’ve got ‘til it’s well and gone. ” the thug looked to his crony and gave her a smirk. The woman crossed her arms and stared the elves down in some attempt to intimidate them. “Now come on elf. If you make me say it again, there’s gonna be trouble.

“If you harm her, I won’t stand by and watch,” Nathalienne warned, looking to her company to show that they stood with her, although, she knew at least one of them did not.

“And neither will I,” the scarred man revealed a knife concealed in his tunic.

“We got a system,” the thug growled, reaching for his club. “And it looks like you don’t want to fit in,” he charged for the elf, swinging his club behind his head and swooping forward. The man defending her, slid between them in a fraction of a second, his strong arms gripping the club before it could land a blow. His teeth grit as he pushed upwards, while the thug struggled to push down in hopes of now killing him instead of the elf.

Nathalienne moved just as quickly, ducking low and grabbing the closest weapon she could find; her ally’s dagger. She unsheathed the blade from his belt and with a fast pivot of her foot, she thrust the knife forward, driving it deeply into the thug’s gut. Deep crimson stained his tunic as blood pooled out and dribbled on the stone under his feet. Nathalienne stared him in the eyes, watching his face contort with pain as she pulled the knife from his body. He stumbled back, hands clutching the bleeding wound until he fell forward and stopped breathing.

“Burro!” the woman cried, drawing her own weapon. “You’ll die for that elf bitch! I’ll –AHHHHHHH!”

A current of electricity enveloped the crony, she shook ravenously, foaming at the mouth and eyes turning white. Her hair frizzed and singed until the ends had blackened. Finally she stopped convulsing and dropped to the ground, lifeless. Nathalienne kept a firm grip on the knife, searching for the one responsible for that display.

“Gods that was getting a bit tense wasn’t it?” a red-headed woman jested, shaking her hands as they sparked from leftover magic. She sauntered over to the group, her hips slightly swaying. Her freckled face held a mischievous grin. She paused, taking a look at Nathalienne and her companions.

“Thanks for that,” the young elf nodded in appreciation, lowering the knife to her side.

“Figured I owed ya one. I mean you did save my sorry ass on the ship didn’t you? Can’t remember if I talked to you or not. Though you may have known me as Madame Josephine Gribbles De Peeb. But I’m Lohse. And you’re....you.”

“Nathalienne.”

“Pretty...your name...I mean, don’t get me wrong you’re pretty too. Can see why you’ve got all these man types followin’ you,” Lohse winked. “Don’t turn your back on ‘em or they might stick ya, if you know what I mean.”

Nathalienne raised a brow, her face knotted in confusion; she didn’t know what Lohse meant. The Red Prince scoffed, muttering something incoherent under his breath. Fane had pulled out his book again and began leafing through the pages, otherwise aloof to what was going on. Nathalienne spun around, facing the tanned man with scarred arms and held his knife out to him by the handle “Thanks for your help back there...”

“Ifan,” the man offered her a smile, taking his knife back and holding out his hand to shake hers. She stared at it, frowning, she couldn’t shake his hand.

“It’s nothing personal,” she gave him an apologetic expression. “I can be a bit... _invasive_ when I touch people. It’s a bit difficult to explain.”

“No need lass,” Ifan lowered his hand back.

The violet haired elf stepped forward, her face full of relief. “Follow me. Before more of them trouble us,” she offered her hand to Ifan.

“I’ve an errand to run around here first...I’ll catch up with you there later,” he said.

“Remember: past the kitchens, down to the beach, inside the cavers there. There is a safe place,” she faced Nathalienne and her company. “Dear one, you should come with me.”

The Red Prince cut in, his expression far from impressed. “I’m afraid your kin and I have something of a bargain and I cannot afford to let her waste even more time on useless elven ventures. So, off you go.”

“Prince!” Nathalienne closed her eyes in frustration. “Did it not occur to you that maybe, just maybe, the Dreamer you’re looking for has found refuge in this safe place?”

The Red Prince pursed his lips, remaining silent for the sake of his pride. Lohse chuckled to herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other with her hands on her hips. The dark-eyed elf gave Nathalienne a curt nod of appreciation and led the way down through the fort to the beach.

For a prison, Sourcerers seemed to have free reign of the island, free to go where they wished and set up booths for trade. Magisters stood on patrol, but kept to themselves. At least, that’s what it looked like. Appearances could be very deceiving. Nathalienne kept a safe distance behind the elf she followed, and The Red Prince, who kept his pace a few steps behind. Fane remained as he’d always been; silent and to himself. Finally, there was Lohse, who seemed to have invited herself along. Not that Nathalienne minded much, she did owe Lohse for the help, and it was nice to have another woman around.

Arriving on the beach was a nice change of pace. There were less Sourcerers, less Magisters and less noise. The elf waved her hand, beckoning the others into a cave that stuck out from the sand. The air was noticeably cooler and smelled like dirt as they stepped into the dark cavern. Torches kept the cave lit, tents were pitched and clotheslines were strung and hanging tattered garments. Children ran around the rocky terrain, using sticks as swords and pretending to ‘magic’ them to make them dead. It was a welcomed change to the overwhelming, overheated dread outside. The children waved to the elf that lead them here, calling her Elodi and expressing their happiness that she was back.

In their small encampment, there were two other elves that watched the children and a lizard guarding the cave’s entrance. Elodi took them to a small, busted table topped with a loaf of bread and wheel of cheese and sat on a rickety chair. “Thank you for your help with that _thug_ ,” she took the bread loaf and offered it to her. “Our kind are few here. We must help each other.”

Nathalienne nodded, accepting the bread and breaking it into four relatively equal pieces to share with her companions. Lohse took the bread enthusiastically, wolfing it down in seconds. The Red Prince accepted the offering, but it was clear he was still unhappy with her. Finally she held a piece to Fane who merely stared at her. She could not see his skull under his hood but his posture was radiating with sarcasm. He gestured to his form and once again Nathalienne assumed that he’d be rolling his eyes if he had them. “Really?” he crossed his arms.

 _Right._ “Sorry,” she muttered, fighting the embarrassment that crept up on her. Lohse was quick to take the extra bread and scarfed it down; at least it didn’t go to waste. The young elf slowly ate, her stomach welcoming the food she presented. “Are these the only elves here?”

Elodi nodded. “There are others outside but we do not know them.”

“What about the lizard over there? Is he a Dreamer by chance?”

“Not that I know. Kalias sells wares, he has weapons if you need them.”

“Have any other lizards passed through here?” Nathalienne bit her lip, hoping that she’d get the answer she wanted but Elodi shook her head. Taking a breath, she took another glance around this little reprieve. With a bit of food in their bellies, they would have to leave the cave. She did make a promise to The Red Prince to find a Dreamer and he wouldn’t let her forget it. “Thank you for the bread,” she offered a faint smile and turned away.

“Wait, before you go. I am not here without your help. I do not forget this. For you – a prize.” the elf presented a severed head, the skin almost completely rotted. Tossing it to Nathalienne, she smiled. “I save it for a special occasion, but...I can think of no finer occasion than this. Thank you.”

She caught the head, slightly shocked to be thrown one so casually as a gift. This was clearly a cultural norm, one that she could never remember being exposed to. Of course, her life prior to The Black Death was hazy. The head was cold in her hands, a cold that spread up her arms and down her shoulders until it had completely consumed her. Sobbing rang in her ears, a wretched cry of someone in complete despair. Flashes of Deathfog and the bodies of elves revealed themselves to her. “My order did this...” she whispered, feeling warm tears trickle down her cheeks. The face of the head frowned, its mouth opening to let out another sob. Blood spilled from its eyes in lieu of tears. The crying got louder and louder, the sound ringing in her ears, an inconsolable wail of grief. It was their order that killed the elves. Their order that destroyed the Homeland.

The head slipped from her hands, hitting the floor and rolling a few paces away. Nathalienne was freed from her trance, her hands shaking from the residual memories that lingered. Elodi stared at her with dark and confused eyes. “You do not taste his flesh, but you still see.”

“Isn’t that what elves do?” Nathalienne glanced over at the head, still crying, still grieving. “Can’t you see him crying?”

Elodi knit her brow, reaching out to touch her but Nathalienne recoiled. “You must speak to Saheila. She is young, but she sees. She knows more than we know. She can help you.”

“Who is Saheila?”

Elodi pointed forward to a young elf, her eyes covered with a piece of cloth. Her dark hair fell flat to the base of her neck, her tunic was oversized and made her look much smaller than what she really was. She hated to admit that The Red Prince was right about her, her ability was not an elf thing. It was clear now that another elf stared at her the same way her companions did. So what was wrong with her?

She turned round to her companions. “I...I need to talk to her...” she trembled, feeling overwhelmed. “Then we can trade for weapons and find the Dreamer...and go from there.”

They agreed with her, though she had doubts. She was honestly surprised Fane and The Red Prince were still travelling with her. The prince was such an impatient man, she assumed he would have gone off on his own by now and Fane...well, she really couldn’t tell with him. Lohse was the only one she felt was understanding of her situation. Odd, considering they had only just met. Crossing the cave to a fire pit nestled under a pitched up tent, the group approached Saheila.

“Hey listen,” Lohse pursed her lips, beads of sweat rose on her forehead and her skin had gone pale. She almost looked grey. “I...I don’t know why but...but I think I need to talk to this elf. You mind?”

Unease nestled in her stomach. Nathalienne could feel cold again, staring at Lohse. Disembodied hands crept through the woman’s red hair, wrapping their fingers around her neck. “Lohse? Are you? Are you okay?” she was trying her best to remain straight faced. She didn’t want to appear afraid of whatever was attached to her shaking companion.

“I don’t...I can’t...I just need to talk to her. Okay?!” her voice cracked and her body trembled.

“Okay...” she stepped aside, letting Lohse talk first. Something was not right with this though. The hands that crawled along the woman’s body still seemed to torment her. They grabbed her wrists and ankles and seemed to be moving her like she were a puppet.

The two spoke in hushed whispers. Nathalienne could barely make a word out and she did not want to move any closer to eavesdrop. It was not her place to do so. Yet, the young elf could not shake the dread building up in her core. “Something evil is here...” a whisper just escaped her lips, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, but her companions heard it nonetheless and looked at her. She continued to watch the conversation when Lohse suddenly snatched up Saheila’s hands and leaned in close to her.

“You have to tell me!” Lohse’s voice rose. The whites of her eyes faded to grey, then black. The colour spilled down her face into her veins until she looked almost inhuman. Her hands glued to Saheila’s.

“It rises in you even now, Lohse. Do not let it. You must be strong,” Saheila begged her, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Be strong. Fight. Fight,” she continued, gently shaking Lohse’s hands. “You are okay. You are yours. No one else’s.”

The hands around Lohse lunged for Saheila, they were angry, vile, twisted but they did not reach her. Nathalienne could no longer stand by. Whatever this entity was, whatever these hands were, it was dangerous. She raced forward, skidding to a stop when one of the hands shot towards her. It knew she was here! “Lohse!” she called. “We need to leave now!”

“I can’t....I can’t...” Lohse panted, sweat dripping from her pores.

“Lohse is fighting an enemy. She will win. She must win,” Saheila faced her, her expression filled with fear and concern.

“Ngh...shut up! Let go! Let go! LET GO! I don’t want to hurt her. Don’t make me...!” The woman was rigid as a board, her knuckles white as they squeezed Saheila’s hands with intense force. “LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME! I don’t want to!”

“You are hurting me,” Saheila winced, trying to pull herself free to no avail. “Let me go! Please.”

Unthinking, Nathalienne jutted her hand forward, grabbing Lohse by the wrist in an attempt to pry her grip from the other elf...

Everything was dark. She was alone, trapped in the void. She was no longer gripping flesh, but rather, it was gripping her like a vice. Her heart raced, afraid to look at what held her, what tightened its grip around her. She could feel its anger, its lust, its thirst for blood. The elf struggled to keep it from consuming her. The entity holding her pulled her arm harshly, forcing her to face it. Nathalienne screamed, she screamed so loud it caused her throat to crack. The demon before her sneered, revealing blood stained teeth.

“You can see me little elf?” it licked its teeth, squeezing her wrist to the breaking point, making her scream again, this time in pain instead of fear. “Such a lovely scream from a lovely elf. You won’t stop screaming when I’m done with you little one,” it thrust her forward, her body colliding with something solid, jagged and sharp. Tracing a massive clawed finger from her temple to her jaw, the creature dug its talon into her flesh to draw blood and slashed across.

_Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

The demon’s thoughts sank deep in the recesses of her mind. It wanted her blood, it wanted her body, it wanted her dead. It ran its tongue along the gash on her jaw, licking away the blood. Nathalienne recoiled, her face stained with tears, her body thrashing, her own emotions mixing with the demon’s created a conflict in her head. She felt like she was on fire, like fighting a force this powerful would only cause more pain.

“Your blood tastes like honey,” it rolled its eyes back in euphoria. “It tastes like nectar, like pure joy!”

 _Adramahlihk._ The name slowly repeated itself the longer the demon held her. It held its name close. Its name had power. Its name meant everything.

“I’ll carve your flesh little elf, I’ll strip it clean from your body, I’ll devour you!”

“A-A-” she choked, her body felt like it was being crushed under its massive palm. “Ad-ra-mah-lihk....”

She was back. Her body pressed against the stone face of the cave’s wall. Cold sweat dripped from her brow, shallow breaths escaped her lips. Her knees instinctively curled into her chest while she tried to reorient herself. A few feet away, she saw Lohse, holding her head and distraught. Tears stained her face, her shoulders hung low in defeat. Her companions were not in her line of sight.

The woman continually cried out apologies to Saheila, then her eyes met Nathalienne. Lohse ran towards her, stopping when the elf went rigid. “I am so...so sorry...I...I didn’t mean to hurt you, I...I don’t even remember...”

Nathalienne said nothing, she only stared at Lohse, petrified, seeing the disembodied hands crawling around her.

“You...you’re bleeding!”

The elf traced her fingers along her jawbone, wet with blood; a souvenir from that...that thing. She wiped the blood onto her tunic, her hands feeling around the jagged rock that kept her from distancing herself from Lohse. Where were the others? Did they leave her here?

“I...I can help...here...” Lohse crouched down, taking Nathalienne gently by the wrists. Instantly, the monster’s face appeared where Lohse’s was. Its glowing eyes wide, its bloody tongue flicking.

“NO!” the elf wailed, pulling her wrist out from the woman’s grasp and holding her knees into her chest. “NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” she continued to cry, continued to hyperventilate, continued to panic. She had never known terror quite like this, never known evil like this.

“You cannot be near her Lohse,” Saheila called, taking a few steps towards them but still keeping her distance. “She sees it. Every time she touches you, she sees it. She knows its name. It will kill her before she tells you. You cannot be near her.”

“Then I suggest you take your leave,” The Red Prince stepped in front of Nathalienne, staring at Lohse in annoyance. “Your little passenger makes you a liability, and truth be told, the idea of having yet another person around suffering from spiritual episodes, makes me want to vomit.”

Other words were exchanged but Nathalienne could not hear them. She could not hear anything but a high pitched ring. Her heart raced, her body went numb as if it were going into shock. Her stomach churned and without any further warning, she lurched forward, heaving the contents of her stomach into the sand below her.

The Red Prince sighed in disgust and exhasperation. “Apparently it makes her want to vomit as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer to post, it's been done for a while but real life got in the way. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and as always, leave a like/comment if you're enjoying the story :) Thanks a bunch!


	7. Rogues and Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat and Fane talk. The Red Prince finds Stingtail. Sebille joins the party.

Nathalienne had remained unmoved. For at least a half hour she stayed dry heaving on all fours. There was physically nothing left in her body to purge, but she had no ability to move. Terror enveloped her, that demon’s face fresh in her head. Her arms shook, struggling to hold her up.

“I believe it may be beneficial to drink water,” Fane observed, crouching before her perplexed. “Hydration appears to be the common remedy after one purges as much as you just did.”

“I...can’t drink anything right now...I can’t move...” Nathalienne attempted to explain, heaving once again but nothing came out. “You didn’t see it...you didn’t...”

“He speaks truthfully,” Saheila approached her cautiously, holding a cup of water. “The water helps you.”

“I can still see it!” she cried out in anguish and frustration, balling her hands into fists in the sand.

“It tries to scare you, it hurts you again if you are not careful,” the blind elf knelt down, offering the water. “Drink.”

“I can’t move...I...I,”

Saheila looked to Fane as though she could see him. “You must help her, the fog clears when you help her.”

Fane cocked his skull to the side. His body language said he was curious, he wanted to experiment, he wanted to see if Saheila was right. Bandaged, skeletal hands braced Nathalienne’s shoulders and just as Saheila said; the fog lifted. The demon’s face was gone, everything was gone, there was nothing, nothing but blissful silence. He didn’t even have to make direct contact with her skin.

“What are you?” the words slipped out against her will, her hand touching his exposed carpal bones.

“I am an Eternal,” Fane briefly gazed at her hand making contact before retracting his arm. “Surely I mentioned that when we met in the alcove, although His Royal Highness, as he likes to be called, was rather impatient when you recruited me into this little escapade.”

Nathalienne took the water from Saheila. The silence broken, memories began to flood her once again. Taking a sip, she looked for The Red Prince, seeing if the impatient lizard still remained with them. She found him sitting by the fire pit, his arms crossed and his foot tapping. Her attention returned to Fane and Saheila. “Thank you,” she nodded curtly, drinking some more of her water.

“We help each other Nathalienne, I see it, just as you see.”

“You know my name?”

“I know much of you. Just as you know much of me. You touch the cup I touch, you see what I see.”

“You’re a far-seer,” she dropped the cup, spilling the remaining water into the dirt. “A blind man carved out your eyes but you still see. There’s no escaping it is there?”

“It is not so bad,” Saheila offered a comforting smile, gently cupping Nathalienne’s cheek, showing her the joy she had found with her gift. It was meant to show hope that she would also find joy in her abilities. “I know which days have bread and which days have none. I know more bread comes some day. It helps.”

“Well as touching as this all is,” The Red Prince called out, walking towards them. “I believe we should be leaving,” he focused his attention to Nathalienne. “I trust you can walk now that you’re actually able to keep food and drink in your body. I’m rather content to find that Dreamer and get off this damned island!”

“There can be a way,” Saheila stood, reaching for The Red Prince but the lizard backed away from her grasp. “Amyro knows! But he is gone. Do you see him? He knows how to leave.”

Nathalienne finally gained the strength to stand, her legs were still a bit cramped from being in the same position for such a long time. There was familiarity with Amyro, she could see it in Saheila’s thoughts.

“And Amyro is...?” The Red Prince pressed.

“My protector. My friend. An elf like me, with a spirit bright as new leaves. He tries to help me, to save me, and he suffers very much. He is caught by those who hurt him. I wish so much for his return. And he tells you what you seek. A way out.”

The longing sadness Saheila felt was enough to gain Nathalienne’s sympathies. Amyro was The Black Death’s mirror, as she was Saheila’s. They were two sides of the same coin. Different, yet alike. “We can help him,” she assured. “I’ve lost my protector, I would hate to see you lose yours.”

“You bring me great peace. Thank you, my friend. I miss him very much. I see something that helps. I see a lizard. He is a lizard of many dreams, of far-feeling. You do not free Amyro without him.”

“A lizard of many dreams,” The Red Prince repeated, drumming his fingers on his chin. “This is quite the revelation indeed.”

It seemed their mission was now clear and set. The trio faced the cave’s entrance, motioning forward.

“One more thing Nathalienne,” Saheila intervened, holding out a pair of sturdy leather gloves to her. “The gloves help you to touch, to feel without seeing.”

“Thank you,” the young elf took the gloves and slipped them onto her hands. Now she only needed some sturdy armour to cover the rest of her skin.

Before they departed the cave, she addressed Kalias, remembering Elodi mentioning that he had wares. Granted she didn’t have much coin, but surely they had things to trade. Kalias, however did not acknowledge her. Instead, he bore into The Red Prince, his gaze almost as searing as the prince’s own. “You. The Red Demon. The exiled pig. I heard they’d sent you here, but I’d hoped you’d have drowned yourself before crossing my path.”

Red Demon? The expression on Kalias’ face was just like The Black Death’s when he encountered the prince on the ship. He had done something, and now she was curious. The Red Prince was furious, she could almost feel the rage seeping from his scales. He opened his mouth to speak, most likely to shout obscenities at the other lizard, but Nathalienne quickly elbowed him in the gut.

“I fear you’re mistaken,” she cut in just before The Red Prince could reprimand her.

“Am I?” Kalias stepped forward, towering over her with his brows furrowed. “And how would an elf know about such matters?”

The elf put on a face, smirking at the lizard as though she knew something he didn’t. “I’ve known Vaharis since I was a child,” she lied and she lied very well. “Contrary to popular belief, That Red Bastard isn’t the only red lizard alive.”

Kalias looked to The Red Prince and then back to her, his expression softening. “The prince is a bit taller isn’t he? Your friend here looks stunted.”

Nathalienne made a face, one that said ‘be careful what you say.’ “Vaharis is very sensitive about his height,” she stated, using The Red Prince’s fuming expression to further her point. She was honestly surprised he was staying quiet and going along with it. “But now that this misunderstanding is behind us,” she continued, pinching The Red Prince’s coin purse from his belt in a swift motion. “Shall we talk business? My companions and I are in need of weapons and armour, Elodi told me that you have procured such things.”

She had never worn elven armour before, and now that it was strapped to her body, she understood why. How did elves survive in battles? This was in no way practical! Her midriff was exposed, her chest piece only just covered her breasts and her leggings did not cover her legs. Alas, it was the only armour Kalias had that would fit her. The armour itself was beautiful. It was elaborate, with intricate forging to make it look like the roots of a tree and feathered pauldrons. This was definitely something worn for show and not battle. There was a plus to it at least; she could move very easily. For a ranger like her, she had to move fast, shoot fast, strike fast and she could not do that in clunky metal plate. Kalias had also sold her a delicate whitewood bow. It was not the most balanced bow, but until she came across something better, it would have to do.

The Red Prince had equipped himself with bronze armour and a sword and shield, while Fane remained shrouded in a hooded cloak to hide his bones. He made some comment about a lack of staffs, giving Nathalienne a mental note to look for one in their travels. Now that they were equipped, they were finally able to leave the cave and once they were away from Kalias, The Red Prince no longer held his tongue. “Did you think that little charade was entertaining elf?” he snarled, his pride clearly wounded.

“I wouldn’t call it entertaining,” Fane interjected. “But deceiving a potential foe with lies so they sell you goods is a much better alternative to fighting them.”

“Bah! I had every right to strike that fool where he stood!” The Red Prince tensed. “Speaking of which, elf, I ought to strike you for not only that elbow to my chest, but for stealing my coin!”

Nathalienne rubbed her temples, walking in between her two companions. “I will reimburse you for the weapons! We needed them, and you had the coin, I had to keep things going before you decided your status was more important than our escape.”

“You are walking on very thin ice!” the prince warned. “Nevertheless, you’d best believe I won’t leave you be until every shilling you pickpocketed is paid back!”

“Of course, milord,” she exhaled in annoyance, taking his words to mean he had the intention of eventually leaving. Why did she invite him along again? She glanced to Fane, silently observing them like specimens in a glass cage. He was a man of little words, she noticed. She also noticed he was always watching everything around him, occasionally pulling out his book to jot notes down. It didn’t take her long to figure out he was documenting everything he saw.

Hiking back up the beach and into the square, Nathalienne caught a lizard in her peripherals. He was blue with orange stripes down his face and spines similar to The Red Prince’s protruding from the top of his head, down along his back.

“A delivery, surely you have one?” his voice was older, disoriented, sleepy. Her senses told her that he was the lizard they sought.

“Scram! Snake-face!”

The elf veered off into the kitchens, prompting her companions and cat to follow. The man that shooed the lizard off stood by a cook pot, slowly and maniacally peeling a potato. Stationed around the kitchens were five cronies, all had their eyes fixed on the trio as they entered their turf. Opposite to the man by the cook pot was an elf, beaten and battered and locked in a cage. Amyro.

She hurried to the cage, her gloved hands clasping at the iron bars. “You’re Amyro,” she said, meeting the elf’s gaze. He was a frail man, appearing to be middle-aged judging from the lines on his face. One eye was sealed shut, swollen black and blue. His exposed skin was blotchy and bruised, his lip bloody and split.

“Leave ‘im be,” the man by the cook pot pointed his knife to her with a menacing stare. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Amyro gave her a pleading stare. “Listen, I can help you if you just –”

“Shut up, _elf._ ”

The way he enunciated elf exactly like Burro did gave Nathalienne a good idea who he was: Griff. Facing the cook, she showed her rage. “Why are holding this elf here?”

“This clown?” Griff scoffed. “Caught ‘im stealing from my kitchen. Still won’t say where he stashed my supplies. Sound like someone you’d let off with a slap on the wrist?”

“And you’re certain it was him? Or is it simply because he’s an elf that you assume he’s your thief?”

“You moss munchers always wanna play the victim don’tcha? I caught him red-handed trying to make off with a second crate after he took the first. Went down like a rent boy when we grabbed him. Easy.”

 _Moss munchers?_ That was one she’d never heard before. “What did he steal then?”

“Supplies. A crate of food, citrus in particular. He’ll talk, or he’ll die quiet.”

“You’d kill a man over a few pieces of fruit?” Nathalienne grit her teeth. Was this the kind of injustice her people faced on a regular basis? Is this the kind of injustice she would have faced if she were raised among her own kind?

“Ain’t been here long, have you?” Griff ran a hand through his long, greasy hair, plucking up a potato with the same hand. “No one gets to have it all. No one starves anyone else,” he twirled the knife between his fingers. “Divine’s gone. This blade is the only god watching over Fort Joy.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll make you an offer. We’ll find your supplies, and in exchange you will give this elf his freedom.”

Griff raised his brow and stabbed his knife down onto the table. “All’s I want is my supplies. Happy to let this clown die in a gutter instead of my kitchen. Bring back my crate and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nathalienne nodded, sealing their bargain and immediately left the kitchen, hoping to follow the blue lizard’s trail. “Did either of you see which way that lizard in the kitchens went?” she questioned her companions.

“I believe I saw him go down the beach,” Fane answered, pointing in the general direction he spoke of. She took off, exploring the beach, The Red Prince and Fane followed close behind her. As the minutes ticked on, the young elf grunted in frustration. Where in all the hells did he go? He could be anywhere along this damned beach!

A man ran towards them, his auburn hair long and matted, his beard almost matching. For a moment, she assumed the man was merely running along the beach, perhaps as a way to cope with being stuck on Fort Joy. However, he skidded to a halt, his dark eyes wide and a crooked smile stretched on his lips. His gaze went right passed her and fixed on the scarlet lizard at her side.

“Aha! I found you, didn’t I? Red, they said! Red, then _dead!_ ” his body twitched.

The Red Prince rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Is this going to be another attempt on my life? Because they’re a frightful bore, frankly.”

The elf shot him a look. That was how he responded to an assassin? How often did this happen?

“Not an attempt, mate! Not if I can bloody help it. Time’s up, _your ‘ighness!_ Let’s dance!” he drew a dagger from his belt and slid forward, keeping low, grabbing a handful of sand and tossing it at them. Nathalienne squeezed her eyes shut, tears formed as the grains irritated her. She forced her eyes open, the assassin was right in front of her. He violently tossed her to the side, her body colliding with Fane’s and crashing to the ground.

He was smart. He knew if he stabbed her he’d give Fane or The Red Prince the opportunity to attack. His target was the prince, his only focus was the prince. The Red Prince quickly brought his shield forward, protecting himself from the assassin’s blade.

Nathlienne groaned in discomfort and rolled off of the skeleton; it turned out landing on top of a sentient pile of bones hurt quite a bit. Fane rose to his feet, his hood disheveled, revealing his jewelled skull. “Honestly?” he rubbed his skull in irritation, attracting the assassin’s attention. The man screamed, he looked like he was about to cry. His blade dropped from his trembling hand, he shook his head, as though he were telling himself that this living dead man wasn’t real, that he was trapped in a nightmare.

The Red Prince immediately grabbed the assassin by the hair and slashed his throat with his sword. Blood sprayed from the man’s neck, he choked, collapsing to his knees, hands clenching the wound in some attempt to make the blood stop. But the blood only continued to pour, spilling onto the white sandy shores. Finally, he dropped face first into the sand. Nathalienne stared at the twitching body, watching thick red blood spread outwards.

“Don’t even think about it elf,” The Red Prince sheathed his sword and grabbed her by the scruff of her armour, forcing her to her feet and shoving her away from the body. “I won’t have any more delays because you had to go and touch another corpse.”

“Alright!” she shot, shoving him away. Turning to Fane, she puzzled at his skull. Most of the time she saw him, he was always covered head to toe. Seeing his skull again, studying it, it made her curious. How did he work? What kept him upright? How did he speak without a tongue? How did he see without eyes? The skeleton noticed her staring and pulled his hood up, shrouding himself once again. Awkwardly chewing her lip, she started down the beach again, striding between her two companions and her cat trailing behind them.

“That was rather fun, wasn’t it?” The Red Prince broke the silence after a couple of unnaturally long seconds. “I do find it ever so invigorating to cut a cutthroat’s throat.”

“That man just tried to kill you!” the elf exclaimed, taken aback by how relaxed he was about it all.

“Oh one gets used to this kind of thing so quickly. This is hardly the first time someone’s filled some poor fool’s purse and bid him kill the prince. I’ll tell you what, though: whomever wants me out of the picture will have to be a lot keener if they seek to get the better of me! All those bumblers they’ve sent so far, mark a mere insult to my swordsmanship.”

She didn’t dare remind him that the reason he got the upper hand so quickly was because Fane had distracted his attacker. Instead, she took the opportunity to question him. “Just how many assassins have been sent after you?”

“Dozens, I should imagine, but if we’re talking about the ones that came after my exile, this would be number five. Let them come I say: Keeps one sharp.”

“Is your exile part of the reason you’re here? Kalias seemed ready to kill you when he saw you. And The Black Death seemed to know you too. What did you do?”

“There was a small...incident, which prompted my many rivals to move against me. Technically, they had the letter of the law on their side. Such a nuisance, the law. Quite necessary to keep the common in line, of course, but one such as myself it should be exempt as a matter of course.”

Nathalienne rolled her eyes. Of course this pompous ass found himself above the law. “You didn’t exactly answer my question.”

The lizard gave her a hint of a smirk. “Noticed that did you? For future reference: if I don’t answer a question, it’s because I don’t want to.”

Oh no. He wasn’t just getting off the hook. “Was it your Source that got you in trouble?”

“I hardly know you as yet! Let’s leave some mystery in the relationship, shall we? We can exchange criminal records later.”

It was clear he wanted to drop the subject, the glower in his ember eyes almost shot at her to back off. She may not have known The Red Prince very well, but she learned rather quickly that he had quite the temper. She certainly did not want to provoke him even further, considering how much she had already provoked him. For the moment, she’d have to ‘leave some mystery,’ for a little while anyway.

Turning down a path towards a small shelter surrounded by crates, baskets and a strung up line of fish, Nathalienne spotted the blue lizard curled up on a small bedroll. She removed one of her gloves, intending to touch, to see why Saheila said this lizard would be key to Amyro’s freedom. She already had her assumption: he stole from Griff. What other reason could it be? Amyro was taking the fall for another man’s crime. She began to bend downwards, her bare hand slowly closing towards the sleeping lizard, but before she could get any further The Red Prince had barred her with an outstretched arm.

“This man is a Dreamer: as you know I need a word with him. You may wait here while I speak.”

She could not deny him that. He may not have been patient with her in his search for a Dreamer, but his need to speak with him was genuine. The elf stepped back, slipping her glove back on and made a gesture, silently telling the prince to have his word. He stepped forward, nudging the blue lizard with his foot.

He stirred, opening weary yellow eyes. “Hmm. Am I awake? I think I need a pinch...or, no, hang on. It’s you. They said you’d be red, but I didn’t think so, so very red. Hmmm.”

“And who are ‘they?’” The Red Prince questioned.

“‘They’ is them. Yes. Those. There are many words for them, but I’m having trouble finding the right ones.”

And here Nathalienne thought she spoke strangely in a trance. She didn’t even hold a candle to this Dreamer.

“I understand you must be flustered, seeing one such as I. Take a moment kin, find your composure,” the prince boasted, making Nathalienne roll her eyes behind his back.

“Thank you, but I’ll be quite alright soon. Yes. Soon, soon, soon. Being suddenly roused startled me. Swept between sleep and awakening, I could not be certain: is it really him? The very one I’ve been waiting for? But it is you, all rugged and ragged. How the mighty have fallen, hmmm?”

“My ascension to the throne is but a matter of time!”

“Ascension! Ah! Just the word! Just the thing the visions show me over and over, spinning like a windmill, incessantly! The ‘they’ I spoke of, O Majesty, are my dreams: the brain-born of sleep! I see you in my wondrous, foggy fantasies, Sire. They speak to me, They say you are the one that will bring about the _Change..._ But! There are those that oppose the Change. There are those that want you quite, quite dead!”

Considering they had just encountered an assassin, it was pretty obvious someone wanted His Royal Highness dead.

“Pray tell, who exactly wants me dead? What Change do you speak of?”

“I do not know, I cannot say,” the Dreamer swayed his neck from side to side, fighting his exhaustion and desire to return to his slumber.

“Why are you being so bloody recalcitrant!” The Red Prince snapped.

“For you, Your Majesty! For your life and for your destiny! See this is the very X in the crux of the capital M’d Matter, prince” what we must speak of is very delicate. What we must speak of is very dangerous. What I must know, I do not know when I am awake. What I must tell, I must tell you out in the great sleep.”

She looked to Fane. The skeleton had his book out and scribbled in its pages as the lizards conversed. Nathalienne leaned over slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he wrote but she could not read the text. Whatever language he wrote in, it was not the Common Tongue.

The Dreamer fished an orange from his pocket, informing the prince that hidden within the fruit was a leaf called drudanae. Nathalienne was all too familiar with that plant, almost every tavern The Black Death took her to in their travels had at least one peddler for the stuff. She even smoked it once - never again. Slipping his claw under the citrus’ skin, he popped the top of the orange off and plucked a small amount of drudanae between his thumb and forefinger.

“Very well,” The Red Prince sat before the Dreamer. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Dreamer dropped the leaves into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. His eyes glazed in a trance-like state and suddenly he crashed onto his bedroll in a deep sleep. The Red Prince followed, laying next to the Dreamer and letting sleep take him. Nathalienne observed the sleeping lizards, then awkwardly turned to Fane, wondering what they were supposed to do now.

“I suppose we wait until they wake up,” he shrugged, skimming through his book. “This sleep ritual lizards do is quite interesting. I’ve read about Dreamers but I have never seen them up close. This is a rather opportune learning experience.”

The elf moved a few paces away from the lizards, sitting on a rock by the beach. She gazed out over the water for a few moments, watching the spirits dancing in the waves. “You said you’re an Eternal?” she asked aloud, attracting Fane’s attention from his book. He snapped it shut and stood next to her.

“Indeed, I may be the only Eternal. My people seem rather...absent. At least from this realm. As for the others...well, there is an excavation site at the Blackpits oilfields. I hope to find my answers there.”

“What exactly is an Eternal? Your people aren’t some weird undead cult are they?” Nathalienne raised a brow, trying to figure it all out. Was there really a race of undead that no one knew about? Of course she was aware of undead, but to her understanding, they were once humans, elves, dwarves, lizards. She had never heard of an Eternal.

“A cult!?” Fane snapped his head to her, his voice filled with offence. “Hardly! We were a race that existed before the idea of ‘race’ was needed. We were all one. I could ask you to imagine an Eternal as a creature of incredible intelligence and skill, but I fear the limits of your imagination would not do us justice. We studied the mysteries of the universe. We created works of great art! We...we disappeared.” His voice cracked, this was clearly hard on him. “But I will find them. Wherever they are, I will find them. We will have our world again.”

Nathalienne stared at him, her head cocked to the side. Fascination and curiosity filled her expression. “If your people are gone,” she pursed her lips, hoping she wouldn’t push her boundaries. “How are you here?”

“Well that hardly seems relevant!” Fane scoffed. “But if you must know, I was...inconvenienced for a time. Several centuries, in fact. Or perhaps millennia...one tends to lose track. I was sealed in a tomb for daring to be curious about the world. It seems our king did not agree that the universe should be explored to its full potential. Perhaps I should thank him, it seems I was spared whatever happened to the others. I wonder if flowers would be appropriate...”

The elf rested her hand on his arm in consolation. His situation was one she couldn’t possibly understand. She wanted to know more, to understand more. Her curiosity was getting the better of her, she wanted to press further but the way he hung his head told her not to ask any more questions. At least not now. After a few moments, Fane looked at her hand, still touching his arm and began searching through his notes. She removed her hand.

“What is it you keep writing about?” she finally questioned.

“Oh, nothing of any particular interest. More a study on you mortals, how you interact, social constructs, mating patterns, the simplicities of your primitive lifestyles.”

Nathalienne raised a brow, pretty sure he just low-key insulted her. Well, her and every living creature in Rivellon. “A bit ignorant about the world I see.”

“Ignorant?! I daresay I have a better knowledge of this world than any creature living in it. Oh I may be missing some small social mores or be unaware of what king waged which war, but why nitpick?”

“So you only know what you deem worth knowing? Doesn’t that make you just like everybody else?”

“Hardly!” Fane’s tone was bordering on the annoyed. “You assume that because I don’t care which lord invaded which land or which such and such created a new way to pickle fish that my intelligence is selective? Your wars and laws change every few centuries, honestly it really doesn’t matter to think about them. The laws of the universe never change. Even when I walked this earth, apples fell down from their trees. I have yet to meet a lord or king who can demand apples fall up or that fire produce cold instead of heat. That is the knowledge worth seeking.”

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped. In some way he was right. Certain aspects of nature could never be changed by any living being, no matter how hard they tried. “Fair enough,” she shrugged, checking on the lizards still sleeping and occasionally thrashing. “How long do you think they’ll be asleep for?” she changed the subject, no longer wanting to debate with him.

“I can’t say for certain. Like I said, I’ve never witnessed a ritual like this before. You really don’t need to bother with idle chatter. There’s hardly any merit in it.”

She grit her teeth together. “Alright then,” the elf grumbled to herself, standing from her rock and moving away from him. “I’m going to walk around – maybe pick up a companion that isn’t a complete ass,” she muttered the last part under her breath. Maybe she should just leave them on the beach and go about escaping alone with her cat. She walked up towards the fort, pressing two fingers into her forehead in irritation. What in all the hells had she gotten herself into?

Fixing her gaze forward, she spotted an elf crouching behind ship wreckage and staring at the sleeping lizards with glowering intensity. Her diamond features were regal and radiant, but cold too and sharper than any knife. Nathalienne paused, staring at the other elf, then back to the lizards. Was she another assassin? The icy stare in her amber eyes certainly gave the impression that she was bloodthirsty. But looks were no way to prove that she was a hired sword to kill The Red Prince. What was she supposed to do with this? Just leave and let her strike? Or confront an innocent woman and accuse her of treachery?

Nathalinne puzzled, the elf hadn’t noticed her standing not even a foot from her. Something about this didn’t sit well with her. Against her better judgement, she moved even closer. “What has you staring at that lizard?” she wondered, making the elf startle. Suddenly the elf whipped around, grabbing Nathalienne by the neck, her face contorted in rage. Nathalienne’s reaction was just as quick. As the elf pressed the tip of a long needle into her neck, Nathalienne had swiped one of her kin’s daggers from her belt and pressed it to her neck. Her opposite hand shot up, gripping her foe’s wrist in some attempt to get the needle away from her throat.

The two stood in a deadlock, it was a matter of who was the quicker elf, who would stab the other first. Memories of rage and pain flooded through Nathalienne’s thoughts. The elf was called Sebille. She was a slave, she was carved into, kept in the dark, ordered to kill her own kind. Her eyes darted to the unique scar on Sebille’s cheek, she recognized it, remembered it, remembered Kain. He intended to carve the same scar into her; before The Black Death intervened, before he saved her.

“You caught me off guard. No one catches me off guard. Better tell me who you really are, so I can decide your fate here and now,” Sebille growled, pushing the needle in a little deeper to draw blood.

Nathalienne pushed her knife in a ways, reminding Sebille that she could stab at any moment. “Sebille, I’m just an elf, I’m not that different from you.”

Sebille’s eyes went wide and her teeth grit. “There is no other elf like me,” she pushed her needle, showing no regard for the blade at her own throat. “You know my name elf, how?”

Nathalienne darted her eyes down to Sebille’s hand, still clenched around her neck. “You told me.”

“Ha! So you’re one of _those_ elves are you?” she laughed, her grip loosened but she kept her needle right where it was. “Well honey, if you’re going to invade my thoughts, I’d best return the favour.”

Without warning, Sebille leaned forward, efficiently stroking her tongue along the hollow of the young elf’s throat. Nathalienne inhaled sharply, finding Sebille’s tongue to her throat more uncomfortable than the needle. More, sharper, clearer memories seeped into her mind, she could almost feel Sebille’s pain, the pain of being carved, chained, defiled, used, raped. That pain had turned to anger and desire, desire to murder everyone that stood between her and The Master. And The Master...he was in for a fate worse than death.

“Aren’t you just a treat, Nathalienne,” Sebille broke her from her trance, licking her top lip and smiling sharply. “You and I aren’t as different as I thought, both raised under the thumb of a Master, a lizard.”

“The Black Death wasn’t my Master, he was my mentor, my friend, the closest thing to a father I have,” she corrected.

Sebille laughed again. “You poor naive little darling, you think because he didn’t have to carve a scar into you that he thought you a friend? A daughter? Lizards enslave, they manipulate, they lie. You might not have had a scar carved into you, but he raised you, groomed you to be what he wanted. You have a talent not many of our kind have, you really think he saved you? He wanted that power so he took it, you were a child, you were easier to control.”

Nathalienne said nothing, she didn’t need to. Sebille’s disgust for lizards would not be wavered, she would never believe any of them to be decent. She couldn’t blame her, she’d probably have the same prejudices had she been forced to do the things Sebille had to do. “Is that why you’re stalking that lizard? He enslaved you?”

“It is my desire to question him. _Intensely_. As for the reason: you’re staring at it. You see, once upon a bad old time, that lizard cut this thing, this _living scar_ into my cheek. But now I’m free – of sorts – and I’ve traced that lizard here, to Fort Joy. I intend to raise the subject with him.

“You’ve tasted my flesh, you know I am not a threat to you, what will killing me accomplish?”

“‘Not a threat,’ she says holding a dagger to my throat!” she darted her eyes to the aforementioned knife. “In truth, it does not matter in the least who you really are. You saw me mark my prey. You could warn him, save him, or kill him before I get my chance. That makes you a liability. That makes you needle feed,” she threatened.

“You put a needle to my neck first!” Nathalienne retorted. “If I really wanted you dead, I could have killed you, just as you could push that needle into my throat at any point. I am not your enemy Sebille. We could work together,” she wasn’t expecting to invite another companion along, especially not under these circumstances.

A bright sparkle of laughter followed her proposal. “How amusing. I admit I had not seen that twist coming. I was certain the pitiful begging was about to begin. Make your case and do it quickly: why should I join you?”

“I’m planning an escape, you’re on a hunt and will need to get off this island. We can help each other.”

“Escape? How you do tickle me. Most of the misguided dears around here would argue such a thing is impossible.”

“Saving you from certain death on the ship was also something some would claim impossible. Just saying,” Nathalienne withdrew her knife from Sebille ever so slightly, making the first move towards compromise.

Sebille smirked coyly. “Well played. Oh, little needle mine, what should I do? Push or pull? Mmm...the agony of choice... You know what? Today is a rather fine day. Sunshine and an easy breeze. Yes. I’ll let you live. I’ll even agree to travel with you, provided we talk to that lizard I mentioned. I’m not quite sure the weather will save _him_.” With a casual flick of the wrist, she withdrew the needle from her neck. Nathalienne did the same, passing the blade back to Sebille by the handle. “Lead the way,” Sebille began walking down the beach. “Or better yet, let me take the lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the likes and the comment! It really gets the inspiration going! I'm glad that people are liking the story :)
> 
> On another note, I return to work from mat leave in a week, so I may not be able to post as often as I have been. Please continue leaving your comments etc. cuz they do really motivate a lot of writers out there! Thanks everyone! See you next chapter.


	8. Dream Within A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Prince sees a vision in dreams. Fane gets a hint about a face-ripper. The party plots an escape.

The desert heat was a welcomed one on his scarlet skin. The scent of citrus and incense wafted through the halls of his palace. This realm of dreams was recreating a vision, a vision of him on the throne. The Red Prince wore ceremonial armour of gold, adorned in rubies and a crimson robe draped over his shoulders. Next to him, the Dreamer, Stingtail bowed his head, gesturing to the kingdom, his kingdom. “The Dreamers foresee your triumph my prince!” he declared. Yet voices of other Dreamers warned him of the trials ahead.

_The House of Shadows want your life. The House of Shadows want to rip your throne away. You cannot let them succeed. You will bring about The Great Change! You will bring lizards back to their glory!_

Stingtail rolled his eyes back, connecting to the other Dreamers, allowing them to speak through him. “Seek out Bahara. Seek her in the swamps”

A shadow whisked by in his peripherals, causing him to break his focus. Stingtail pointed forward. “Seek the truth O’ Prince of Princes.”

Bloody hell! Why did Dreamers have to be so damned cryptic? He wandered along the pale marble floors, so shiny he could see his reflection. Grape vines spiralled up the marvellous pillars that decorated the halls. The walls were carved with detailed tellings of his many victories, showing him leading his people to fight their enemies. Of course that was not an accurate depiction of the battles. He’d never gotten to see a single war he’d won.

Another shadow caught his eye, disappearing down a corridor, only allowing him to see light fabric drag across the marble. He followed, turning down a never-ending labyrinth. This was no longer his palace. Of course it never was his palace, this whole vision was what the Dreamers projected, his deepest desire of his throne. Finally, there was light, and at the end of that light, a balcony which stood the entity he’d been following, a woman wearing a pale blue satin dress that left little to the imagination.

“Seek the truth O’ Prince of Princes,” another woman appeared behind him, she was a lizard, it was... _her._ The woman he’d dreamed of for as long as he could remember. How he wished he could see her clearly but the only thing that was clear was her scarlet skin. There was familiarity, yet he’d never met her. He had to know her!

“It’s you!” he fought the urge to embrace her. This could just as easily have been some test. The room darkened, as if a massive shadow had swept over them. The sound of giant wings whooshing through the sky was the only sound that rang in his ears.

A hand rested on his shoulder, but he didn’t want to take his eyes away from the lizard in front of him. He couldn’t. “I have to know you! My Lady why have I always dreamt of you?”

The lizard woman began to fade into the shadows. The hand on his shoulder tugged, turning him around to the shadow that snuffed out the light that once shone on the balcony. He could not see anything. There was nothing but darkness. Wings continued to beat the sky and an ear-splitting roar cut through the air, causing the palace itself to vibrate.

It was dusk when he roused from his sleep. The Red Prince shot his eyes open, pinching the bridge of his nose in apparent irritation before turning his back on the jabbering Dreamer. The dreams still swirled in his head, voices of the disembodied Dreamers warning him of The House of Shadows. He barely had a chance to fully come to when a dark haired elf sauntered over to the Dreamer.

“Stingtail! Just the lizard I was looking for,” she smirked with a dark and sinister glower.

The Red Prince furrowed his brow in agitation and discomfort, looking to Nathalienne; who was just as uneasy. What in all the hells did she do while he slept? He studied the other elf, instantly recognizing the slave scar carved into her cheek. So that was it? A runaway slave looking for freedom.

“Hmm? I am Stingtail. Who is asking” Stingtail answered through half lidded eyes.

“Death is asking. And she’s in a foul mood.”

The prince stepped forward, intent on stopping this but Nathalienne slid between him and the other elf, her face panicked like that of an arrow stricken doe. Her gloved palms pressed gently against his chest. He’d just about lost his patience with her. Everything she did, even looking at him made his temper flare. He prided himself on being a fair man, on being a patient man, but every man had his limits.

“That lizard helped enslave her!” Nathalienne stated in a hushed tone so Stingtail could not hear. “She has every right to question him. This isn’t the Empire!”

No. It was certainly not! Far from grand marble halls and cascading pillars was this ruin of despair and dread. He was not in the Empire, he had no authority to punish an escaped slave as he ought to. As enraged as it made him to stand by and observe a lesser being interrogate a Dreamer of his kin, he did not move. Not yet.

“Death?” Stingtail cocked his head to the side. “ I’ve been it in dark dreams, but no face; not yours, surely! Such a beautiful face...Familiar somehow...Yes, that cheek...” Something suddenly dawned on him and his face became pale. “Confound my drug addled brain, it is...She. You’re She. The Master’s chosen! W-w-why do you seek me?”

She traced a finger along the intricate design of her slave scar. Stingtail cowered, holding his hands out in front of him, as though this slave’s very face were causing him pain.

“I...I was made to weave your scar! They forced my hand. I never had a wish to...blemish you; enslave you! I would undo it if I could! Oh, Oh I surely would, I surely would, but I cannot! Only the Master. Only the Master can!”

“If the Master is the key to my freedom, you will tell me where to find him!” the slave barked, making herself appear taller to the cowering lizard.

“I...But I don’t know! How could I? The Master finds; he is never found. You must know that. Surely you know that.”

She grabbed him by the throat squeezing tightly. The Red Prince glared at Nathalienne, he was now holding her personally responsible for this. She humiliated him in front of Kalias, she took his coin, and now she allowed a Dreamer to be mutilated in such a way by recruiting a slave!

Stingtail writhed in the slave’s grip as he gaped at her with fear-smothered eyes, his voice a pitiful wheeze through his tightened throat. “Please...I don’t know...the whereabouts...of the Master...”

She took a needle from her sleeve and jabbed it about an inch into his lower jaw. He winced and moaned; tears streaming down his shivering face, but he didn’t speak a word. She pushed the needle deeper, until it pierced his tongue, then twisted it. Then he hissed loudly, the sharpness of the pain getting the better of him.

“No! Stop! The wolves! The Lone Wolves! They may know about the Master!”

She twisted the needle again “You’re going to need to elaborate!”

He screamed and thrashed in her grip, then feverishly spoke. “IT’S THE WOLVES! IT’S THE WOLVES! The master’s been using them ever since your escape! They may know where he is! Please...Please...No more...”

“Where can I find a Lone Wolf around here?”

“I...I...Who would know? Who would know?” he cried desperately. “Must be...Griff! Yes, Griff knows! I assure you! He’s over yonder in the kitchen. The cook; the celery man; the butcher man, but but but he knows things! If there’s wolves on the prowl, Griff will have caught their scent. I’ve told you all...Told you all I can...Have mercy, fair lady...Have mercy...” the lizard stood before her a broken mess, quivering with fear and pleading miserably for her to spare his life.

To his surprise, Nathalienne turned her back on him, addressing the slave. “Sebille. I think that’s enough,” she reached forward, intending to guide the slave away but Sebille had already drawn her blade and cut Stingtail open with a heart pounding gusto. His organs protruded through the gaping wound and landed with a wet splash. His dead eyes stared at her in disbelief for the briefest moment. Then his legs gave way and he dropped to the ground face first into his own intestines.

His fists clenched at his side. He had every right to slaughter this slave where she stood. He bared his teeth. “Demon elf! How dare you strike down a Dreamer!” The Red Prince snarled, the only thing between him and Sebille was Nathalienne.

Sebille stared him down, her smile wicked. “Such is my prerogative Prince, and doubly so, my pleasure.”

“Why you –” he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. Sebille repeated the action, unsheathing her dagger, still wet with Stingtail’s blood, from her belt.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Nathalienne shouted, her arms stretching outwards to create more distance between them. Her bright eyes glared at him with a seething anger that could match his own. Was she truly going to chastise him! He had every right! Then her anger redirected towards the slave but her arms stayed outstretched. “What in the hells did you that for!?” she shot, her body radiating rage.

“It’s simple,” Sebille sheathed her knife, defying her with devilishly innocent eyes. “He scarred me, so I scarred him. Extensively. Can you blame me?”

 _Absolutely!_ That’s what she should have said! But she didn’t. Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip as she contemplated. Even she couldn’t be so dull to realize that regardless of Stingtail’s actions, he was bid to by a higher being.

“I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if he did that to me,” Nathalienne answered.

“There it is!” the slave ran her tongue over her teeth and raised her brows seductively at the other elf. “I was wondering when your spine would make an appearance. Anyway, what’s dead is done, so let’s move on shall we? Despite my high hopes, this scar disfigures me still. Stingtail mentioned a cook, as it happens: a fellow named Griff. Two birds, one stone. How about it?” she sauntered off, giving The Red Prince a half smirk but her dark eyes were filled with hatred.

Nathalienne turned around, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose and her brows knit. It was clear she frustrated easily, in the short number of hours he’d known her, she’d made that face multiple times. He also didn’t fail to notice that she normally made that face around him.

The elf cautiously approached Stingtail’s corpse, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the orange filled with drudanae and slipped it into her pack. It was pretty clear the citrus, or rather the drudanae, belonged to the low life cook.

She didn’t look at him as she moved by, but she did speak to him, rather bluntly too. “Is Sebille going to be a problem for you?”

Was she actually asking this? Of course the slave was a problem! “Bah! I should whip her ‘til she’s as red-skinned as I am, then leave her for the birds to peck clean. But there are broad waters between should and shall at the present, and I’m nothing if not a patient prince. It’s forgiving that I’ve more trouble with. Still, you bewilder me just as much, don’t you know! It was you who invited little miss needlework into the fold. Do you mean to tell me you’re comfortable with what she’s done?”

An expression of conflict found its way onto her face. “I understand her. That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it...”

“You understand her, do you?” his voice was laced heavily with condescension. “You understand that she murders a man because he did like he was bid to by a Master; by a higher force than he? Don’t let all that understanding of yours trump your comfort. She’s dangerous. You’ve seen it,” he scolded her as though she were a child. She was young, perhaps even naive and too foolish to grasp the real world.

“I have seen it,” she repeated, her eyes focusing to the ground. “I’ve also seen how dangerous you are, Prince.”

His brow arched but he remained silent, perplexed as she followed the slave, leaving him and the relatively silent undead that she invited along to follow them. He whispered a mantra to soothe his nerves. The elf was a means to an end: his throne. That’s all he had to remember.

* * *

They returned to Griff in silence. Nathalienne tossed him the orange, her expression sour. Griff tore into the orange with both hands, juice squirting through his hands as he desperately ripped through the rind. A smirk stretched on his lips, clearly satisfied with having his drudanae back. “Looks like everything’s accounted for. Now the important question: Who’s the thief?” he raised a brow to the elf.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nathalienne scowled. “Your thief is dead, you have your drudanae. We kept our end of the bargain.”

He raised an eyebrow “Looks like someone did my job for me. A deal’s a deal, your guy’s free to go. He should be fine. Eventually,” he chuckled, giving her a wink before crossing the kitchens to Amyro’s cage and unlocking it.

Amyro limped forward, taking two steps before he lost his footing and fell forward. Nathalienne hurried towards him, catching the elf before he face planted into the mud. His hands braced himself on her shoulders, his head slumped. “It is done.” he exhaled, his face contorting in pain. “And quickly. I thank you. Very, very much. I hold my end of the bargain. I show you the way out. But...I have something more to ask of you.”

“I can help you back to Saheila,” she finished what she assumed he was going to say. The poor man could barely hold himself up let alone walk.

“Saheila. She is...she is everything. A ruler...a seer...a knower...a child. She cannot...cannot be lost here.”

“I know, she’s a far-seer.”

“She is so much more. It is for all our people. For...the world. I show you a way out. A secret. Dangerous. But it leads to freedom. A hatch hidden on the beach to the east,” he pointed in the general direction they needed to go before pulling a golden amulet from his neck and passing it to her. “I give you this amulet. You must pass it to the elves who still remain. Tell them Saheila is here. They will send help. Please. She is important!”

Nathalienne accepted the amulet and tucked it away in her pocket. “I will do what I can,” she promised, not able to guarantee she’d be able to find any elves if they got out, if they even survived an escape.

“I go to her. I wish you good luck and I thank you for us all,” Amyro balanced himself and limped down the beach. Once he had made it far enough without falling, Nathalienne consulted her companions.

Sebille was occupied, talking to Griff in a hushed tone that she could not hear from where she stood. Fane and The Red Prince were still close, and once Sebille returned to the fold with an all-knowing smirk, Nathalienne relayed Amyro’s message.

“I suppose there’s no harm in investigating this escape route. Dangerous as it may be, I doubt we stand much of a chance doing nothing,” Fane shrugged. “I do have a personal inquiry with whomever passes for a smithy here though. I am still lacking a tool to rip off a person’s face, you brutish mortals must surely have something to accomplish that.”

“I have to see a man about a wolf in the Hollow Marshes,” Sebille said, placing a hand on her hip. “The sooner we make our escape, the better. Besides, having an undead show his face can come in rather handy, why bother with a mask? Your cloak hides you well enough.”

“Oh lovely,” Fane sarcastically retorted. “Glad to know you see fit to use my skull as a means to scare the masses. Of course you must realize that when most plebeians get scared, they resort to violence. I’d rather not have the general public constantly trying to stab me!”

“Not like you have any innards to stab. Can you even die?” The Red Prince cut in. “While I hate to agree with this... _woman_ , I do believe our escape should be our top priority.”

Nathalienne pinched her nose in irritation. “I promised Fane I’d help him with this, and if I’m going to be completely honest, he’s the only one who hasn’t been nagging me constantly or going on a murder spree to get it! We can at least spare until dark before we find Amyro’s path. It’ll be a lot easier to sneak down when it’s dark and the Magisters are switching patrols.”

The Red Prince glared at her, as he always did, but agreed with her logic to wait until dark. Sebille shrugged, saying the tactic suited her fine and with that, the party was off again. The elf kept her eyes peeled for any lizards that may have been The Black Death, but there was no such luck. She wanted him to be here. She wanted to find him and she wanted things to be normal again.

As the skies continued to darken, the group had found Nebora; a tinkerer of sorts. Her tent was filled with all kinds of contraptions, weapons, tools and everything in between. If anyone would have some kind of face-ripping tool, it would be her. Fane eagerly approached the woman. "You seem to be a technically minded creature. Could you fashion a face ripper for me?" he bluntly questioned.

Nebora’s face dropped. "Come again?"

The skeleton sighed loudly. "It's a tool used to remove the facial skin from a humanoid," he continued graphically explaining the schematics of the tool and gesturing around her head an awful lot.

"What is it with creeps like you and Master Kniles? I told him to slither back to his dungeon, and you can git too freak!”

Fane backed away, scratching his head. “Well, that didn’t quite go the way I had expected.”

“Really?” The Red Prince crossed his arms. “You ask this woman about a mechanism that can tear off a corpse’s face! Did you honestly expect a different reaction? I know you’ve been living under a rock or whatever for a few centuries but something like that should constitute as common sense.”

“Tell me are you always this condescending and annoying? Or are you merely trying to compensate for your lack of an Empire?” Fane rebutted.

Nathalienne didn’t even bother trying to break up this argument, she was quite finished trying to be the mediator between those three. Turning her back on her companions, the elf walked away in silence, heading east towards the escape hatch before the new guards came out for their watch. Her cat had remained with her, keeping close to her feet and occasionally meowing and hazily asking her why she was following him. Perhaps going on alone would be better. She clearly was not cut out to travel with these kinds of people. Without the Black Death, maybe she was meant to continue on alone. She did have a cat...an occasionally talkative cat at that, so she wasn’t completely solitary.

The night brought a chill into the air, the moon’s light shone on the dead waters of the sea. The dancing spirits no longer danced in the waves. Instead, their arms hung limp out to the water, reaching for the heavens, for escape, as though their dance was all a charade. Everything in Fort Joy was a lie. Nathalienne paused for a moment, feeling her head ache. Pushing everything down, she continued along the beach, allowing the briefest moment of peace to consume her before...

“Don’t think your absence went unnoticed,” The Red Prince scolded, causing Nathalienne to roll her eyes and give him her attention. Fane and Sebille were a few paces behind and seemed none the more impressed with her vanishing act.

“Have no worry milord, I’m an elf who always pays her debts,” she mockingly bowed to him. “I figured my absence would be no issue while you were having a dick measuring contest with a skeleton.”

Sebille laughed through her nose, clearly amused. Then again, anything involving The Red Prince being badmouthed would be a fun thing for Sebille.

“Is that what that was?” Fane exclaimed. “I never would have imagined the male ego to be so fragile. This is most telling indeed.”

The Red Prince shot him a glare but the skeleton didn’t seem to notice. “The night guards will be making their rounds sooner than later, so let’s find this way out shall we?” he changed the subject rather quickly. Nathalienne responded with a curt nod and continued on ahead.

Moments later, they were stopped by a dead end. There was nowhere else this escape could be, they had gone as far east as they could go without walking through a massive wall of rock. There was no clear sign of a hatch.

“If we have to go digging for this hatch we could be here all night,” Sebille stated, jutting her hip out. “Kind of defeats the purpose of sneaking around the Magisters.”

“Let me handle it,” Nathalienne exhaled, pulling off her boots and allowing her bare feet to touch the sand, now cooled from the night air. She closed her eyes, silencing out the sounds of the sea and the Sourcerers further along the fort. Amyro was here, he was scouting for a way out, a way to get Saheila out. He found it, he started digging it up but Griff and his thugs jumped him.

When the elf opened her eyes, she was standing right over the hatch, buried in sand. “I’m standing on it,” she said, kicking sand off to the side. Getting on her hands and knees, she began to dig, revealing the hatch below. Gripping the metal handle, she pulled with all her strength but it didn’t budge. The Red Prince intervened, nudging her to the side and pulling the hatch open. A ladder descended into darkness, but it would lead to freedom, Nathalienne could see that much. She grabbed her boots from the sand and slid them back on her feet, returning to the hatch.

She went down the ladder first, the air getting surprisingly warmer as she continued her descent. Once she reached the bottom, her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. The cavern in which she stood was mostly rock with a few fungi growing from the dirt in which she stood. The sound of fire crackling echoed in the air. Removing her gloves, the elf touched the ladder; it hadn’t been touched in a very long time. No one else was down here, which made her more curious about the sound of flames.

The rest of her company followed down the hatch. As her last companion descended, they closed the heavy door behind them to not rouse any suspicion. Sebille and The Red Prince made notice of how much warmer it was in the cave when it shouldn’t have been. That only made Nathalienne more curious, and cautious about what was happening down here. Amyro did say this path was dangerous. “Should we rest here while we have a chance? Or keep going through?” she questioned her comrades, feeling the pull of fatigue come over her.

“We can sleep in shifts,” The Red Prince suggested, noticing the young elf rubbing her eyes. “We’ll have to be sure we have an exit strategy, should any Magisters notice this place.”

“That...shouldn’t be a problem...” Fane declared, pointing between the stalagmites, down to a cornucopia of giant glowing orange slugs. “If the Magisters do know about this place, they probably know that it’s home to fire slugs. If not, we need only to hide. Once they see the slugs, I doubt they’d want to investigate further.”

“Jolly good,” Sebille snickered with copious amounts of sarcasm. “Now how in all the hells are we supposed to get through what I can only assume are _dangerous_ giant fire slugs?”

Nathalienne kept her head down and cleared her throat. “I can talk to them...”

“I’m sorry darling, I didn’t quite catch that. You said you can _talk_ to them?”

“I’ve been talking to the cat this entire time and you never caught on that I can hold conversations with animals?” the young elf retorted, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“I didn’t assume the cat was actually talking back to you,” Sebille raised her brow with a coy smile. “Well then honey, you’re just full of surprises aren’t you? Never would have pegged you for an _Anamaegian_.”

“ _Anamaegian_?”

“It’s the elven term for one who speaks the tongue of beasts. You would have known that if you were raised among our people,” there was edge to her words, spite and bitterness, not towards Nathalienne, but towards the lizard that took her in: The Black Death.

“Can a lot of elves do it?” Nathalienne asked, quickly changing the subject from her kin’s obvious prejudice. How could she blame her for it though? After all the things a lizard had done to Sebille, her hatred was justified. Her continuous passive-aggressive comments about The Black Death, however, were not. He was not a slaver.

“Not many, it is a rare talent and it is not exclusive to elves. Any race has the potential, some can even learn it later in life, but normally it’s inherited,” Sebille explained, situating herself on the ground.

Nathalienne joined her, setting her pack down and trying to get comfortable. She doubted she’d get a good night’s sleep, but she did have to rest at least for a little while. Fane paced a few steps, pulling out his book and documenting the fire slugs below, while The Red Prince stood watch. The young elf lay her head down, listening to Sebille educate her on different elven terms until she finally drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did The Red Prince justice, I really wanted to try and get into his head. I feel like he doesn't get enough development in the game, at least when he's in your party. I have heard it's more rewarding to play as him for character growth. 
> 
> Anyway I do have some of the next chapter written so it shouldn't take too long to post. We'll be going back to The Black Death next chapter too. 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe and staying home. As usual please leave a like/comment if you're enjoying the story and I'll see you all next chapter :)


	9. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Death continues his search for Nat. Ifan joins the party.

It was dusk and there was still no sign of her. The Black Death was ready to punch something, someone! He’d paced through this fucking island ten times over, saw dozens of the same faces but not once did he find Nat. Beast had convinced him to stop in the square and regather himself. He had to admit, the dwarf had a remarkable talent for keeping him level headed. Sitting round a campfire with Beast, Lohse and a handful of other Sourcerers, the lizard held a skewered piece of crocodile meat over the flames. A dwarf bard who called himself Laslor sang shanties, one in particular that got stuck in his head was about ten bottles of mead and ten bottles of rust.

The bard took a glance in their direction and began slapping his knees and chest until a buoyant rhythm developed. Then he started a new chant.

“ _They stol’ me boots and burned me hat_

_But Beast o’ sea will come askin’ for me!_

_They locked me up with a pig an’ a rat,_

_But Beast o’ the Sea will come askin’ for me!”_

Laslor smiled to Beast. “Ho! Not bad for bein’ off the top of my head!” he bowed to an almost comical depth, laughing as he rose. “Welcome to the Joy, my famed friend.”

Beast clapped his hands once. “Well I wasn’t feelin’ so welcome ‘til now. You almost had me dancin’ You got anymore songs in ya? This savage Beast could use some soothin’!”

“Well, I got a right-good rebel whooper on hand warnin’ of the barbaric Beast! The other’s...well, it ain’t so respectful, but royal guardsfolk on ‘oliday always ate it up.”

“Gotta admit – I’m tired of hearin’ the shanties all singin’ my praises. Let’s hear the royalist tune. Bet it dresses me down real good.”

The Black Death raised a brow, observing while he pulled his meal from the flames and pinched it to see if it was cooked enough to his liking. Did Beast really just ask to hear a song that would insult himself? To what end? The Black Death couldn’t grasp it. He once tore off a bard’s arms for a particular tune called ‘ _The Deflowerer_ ’; a rather graphic piece painting him a very different kind of predator, particularly one that preyed on young elven maidens. Of course after the extremely gruesome and very violent arm tearing, no bard ever sang such a song again, at least not while he was in ear shot. Taking the meat between his teeth, he tore a chunk off, rather violently, tilting his head back to let his food slide down his throat. He was never much of a graceful eater, nor did he care to be.

“One royalist tune comin’ up!” Laslor cleared his throat:

“ _Marcus Miles bastard born, the mannered life enraged him._

_A gnashing varmint he became, so queen sought then to cage him._

_A pitiful sight his inadequate fight, the quivering lump sent out of queen’s sight._

_Marcus Miles, bastard born, the royal knights upstaged him.”_

“Ha!” Beast clapped once again. “I knew there’d be some good lines in there! ‘Quiverin’ lump?’ Too funny to be mad at.”

Laslor bowed once more. “The royal guard – they’d sing this while wandering the hinterlands, lookin’ for rebels in the shadows. Was some time ago, of course, back when yeh were banished to the Isle of Mists.”

Beast looked to the ground for a moment – but just a moment. His cheeks rose and reddened and he roared in laughter. “Those were the days, eh chum?” he took a look to The Black Death, who had moved from his seat in a silent, yet abrupt way of saying he was leaving. “Well – I’ve gotta get movin’. Good t’see a friendly face, though. Ain’t too many wanderin’ around this glum camp!”

The group only walked in silence for the briefest of moments before Lohse broke that silence as she always did. “So...Marcus Miles, bastard born? There’s gotta be a big story behind that!”

“Aye,” Beast replied with a half smile.

“You gonna tell it? Or am I gonna have to bother you during our entire lovely stay at the Joy?” she mused, gesturing grandly with her hands.

“Tell ya what girl, when we’ve made it clear from this dung heap, I’ll tell ya all about it, Captain’s honour!”

“Fine, I’ll be holding you to that Beasty!” she winked, picking up her pace so she strode right alongside the lizard. “What about you? You gonna share some juicy tidbits on your life?”

“No,” The Black Death kept his gaze forward, focusing on the many faces he’s seen, looking for one in particular.

“Really?” Lohse rolled her eyes. “No tales of conquests? How about why they call you The Black Death? Your mother didn’t just push you out and call you that. Ooh or did she? That’d really hurt your self esteem eh chief?”

Gods did this woman ever shut up!? “They call me The Black Death because it’s the name I gave myself. My scales are black. I kill people. Pretty self explanatory,” he gave her a withering glare.

“Talk about a chip on the shoulder,” she made an exaggerated frown and crossed her arms.

The lizard snarled, but otherwise kept quiet. That was until Beast addressed him.

“Listen mate,” he set his jaw, his one eye perplexed. “We’ve been wanderin’ round this beach all day. I hate to sound insensitive but, I don’t think yer friend is here.”

“I’m not leaving this beach without her,” The Black Death’s tone was on the brink of a yell.

“Now calm down,” Beast held his hands up. “All I’m sayin’ is if we keep wanderin’ aimlessly, we’ll never be leavin’ this place alive.”

“Then I won’t leave this place alive,” he made his point rather clear. The dwarf was free to do whatever he wished, but he would not leave until Nat was back with him. He wouldn’t lose another child, and if he died, then at least he’d be back with the one he had lost.

“Uhm,” Lohse interrupted, skidding to a sudden stop and pointing to the side. “You suppose Nat had something to do with this little murder scene?”

Following Lohse’s arm, the lizard found the bloodied remains of one of his kind, face down in a pool of blood and entrails. He furrowed his brow, slowly approaching the corpse, taking notice of four distinct sets of tracks heading away from the crime scene, one of which belonged to a lizard, just possibly a certain royal lizard in Nat’s company. “She might have...”

“Whatd’ya think happened to this poor bloke?” Beast wondered, checking the lizard’s pockets and pulling out a handful of coins. “Clearly weren’t no robbery. No one’d leave this much coin behind.”

He proceeded to pocket the coin, while The Black Death turned the corpse around, sniffing at it. Apart from the rot and death, he caught the faintest hint of citrus and...Nat! Her scent was barely recognizable, but he knew it was hers. “We need to follow those tracks.” Nat had been here, she had to be close by! She had to be!

He rose, wiping away the dead lizard’s blood on his tunic. Turning in the direction of the footprints, he was met by a Magister and his Source Hound.

“Causing trouble here Sourcerer?” he spat at him, his hand hovering over his blade while his hound growled and barked.

“We found him like this,” Lohse attempted to explain, taking a step forward. The hound lunged, lowering its head and baring its teeth at her. She stopped, her hands raising above her head.

“It’s the violent ones like you that need to be cured. For the good of the world,” the Magister seethed, noticing The Black Death’s fists clenched at his side. “Go ahead Sourcerer...Make. My. Day.”

Fire burned in the lizard’s eyes, his rage bubbling as he focused on the Magister pig that stood in his way. The Black Death bared his fangs, delivering a powerful, bone crunching punch to the Magister’s face. Blood splattered into the sand, the Magister tried to hold in his pain, only releasing a painful grunt. The Source Hound lunged, leaping upon the lizard and sinking its teeth into his shoulder, whipping its head from side to side. The Black Death winced through his teeth, grabbing the hound by the its top and bottom jaws, pulling them apart until they snapped and tore from its body. Gore sprayed onto the lizard’s face, the dog went limp and collapsed to the ground. The Black Death immediately set his eyes on the Magister, slashing his claws across the man’s throat in one swift motion.

“Holy shit!” Lohse gaped, wide eyed, processing the lizard’s brutal killing methods. “Are you bloody mad!?”

“Remember when I said goin’ for the Reds unarmed and outnumbered was a bad idea?” Beast exclaimed, jolting his head in all directions as a band of Magisters came at them. “Well, this is why!”

They were surrounded, arrows trained on them. Even The Black Death couldn’t get the upper hand on this one, not without a proper weapon. “Fuck.”

* * *

“Well, this is grand!” Beast bellowed in the depths of their shared prison cell. “My plan was t’not die here, and now I’m rottin’ in a jail cell! Thanks a lot!”

The Black Death remained silent, tapping his claws against Aayla’s skull. This wasn’t the first prison cell he’d ended up in, he had a vast well of knowledge on getting out. While Beast continued pacing impatiently, the cell door clanked as the lock was turned. Beast balled his hands into fists, as though he were ready to brawl his way out. A smirk crossed the lizard’s face while he bided his time.

“Got a new cell mate for you murderers,” a Magister crudely shoved a dark skinned man into the cell and slammed the door shut behind her, the lock clicking once more. The Black Death flicked his eyes over to the man; he’d recognized this man. This man helped Nat on the ship.

“Welcome to hell mate,” Beast greeted the man, offering his hand. He shook it, to his surprise.

“I got to admit, I wasn’t expecting cell mates,” the man spoke with a gravelly voice, leaning back against the wall. “Name’s Ifan.”

“Beast,” the dwarf replied. “Y’wouldn’t have had cell mates if that ball of rage o’er there didn’t slash a Red’s throat!”

Ifan darted his eyes to The Black Death, meeting his gaze. “I remember you from the ship. You cut the boat loose. Swore you died when that kraken bust through the hull.”

“I did,” the lizard’s voice cut through the air sharper than a knife. Silence followed, silence he was sure would break at any second knowing those he travelled with. Lohse in particular was never one to keep her mouth shut for long. However, the quiet lingered, lingered enough for him to close his eyes and rest his head back.

“Oi! Keep yer eyes open mate! I’m not goin’ down in a cell. Use that brute strength of yours and break the door down!” Beast ordered, only getting The Black Death’s chuckle in response.

“That door’s not breaking,” Ifan cut in. “If I know Divine Order engineering, and I do, they make their doors stronger than dragon bones,” he continued, pulling a set of lockpicks from his tunic. “The locks on the other hand, are not as structured in their design.”

“How in all the hells did the Magisters not find lockpicks on ya?” the dwarf raised a thick brow.

“You don’t want to know,” the man coyly smiled and began picking the lock. A maneuver here, a click there and suddenly the door was open. Beast clapped Ifan on the back for a job well done and hustled out of the cell with Lohse right behind him. “Comin’ cheif?” she jutted out her hip, staring at him with unnaturally dark eyes. He could have sworn they were blue just a little earlier. Regardless, The Black Death sombrely rose from the dirt covered prison floor and followed along. What other tricks did Ifan have up his sleeve? He wondered.

The prison was mostly quiet, save for the echoes of a whip from somewhere unseen and the muffled scream of a prisoner. It reeked of blood and shit, he was sure if he were to investigate the cells, they’d be full of both. He didn’t fail to notice his own cell lacked a bucket. The Black Death wandered across the stone corridor, immediately spotting Magisters at the end of the hall, too far for them to notice him, but he was quick to rush his companions to the open cell opposite to theirs. They were unarmed and needed to remain unnoticed.

“Godsdammit!” Beast glared at him. “Watch where you’re shovin’ lad!”

The lizard responded with a sour expression. “I’m likely older than you, I wouldn’t be calling me ‘lad.’ Beyond that, there’s Reds at the end of the hall. Unless we get weapons, we’re gonna get caught.

“If you’re gonna go about gettin’ caught by Magisters, you’ll do it outta my cell!” a voice shouted, gaining the party’s full attention. It was a dwarf, his expression irate and his dark eyes narrowed on the intruders. “While you’re at it, get that girl and her head-sucker outta here!” he shot pointing at Lohse

“I...uh...guess he’s talking about _you_?” Lohse awkwardly glanced from side to side. “Hey! Loud-mouth! What gives?”  
  


“I’m tryin’ to relax here, aren’t I? Whatever’s going on with you and you passenger, I don’t really need it in my vicinity.”

“Passenger?” Ifan raised a brow, looking at Lohse, then to The Black Death.

“She’s possessed,” The Black Death quietly stated.

“You can...you can see it?” Lohse’s eyes went wide.

“See?” The dwarf contorted his face. “ Nay. Sense? Good gods yes.”

“You’re a mystic too?”

“Mystic? HAH!” he bellowed. “I used to be a sorta demonologist though. Was learning the arts, at least. Never did have much of a knack for it, t’be honest. Studied under a real maestro though; learned this ‘n’ that, too.”

The Black Death intervened, glaring at the dwarf with glowering intensity. “Her _passenger_ tried to kill my ward. I’m going to need you to tell me _exactly_ what you think this is and how to kill it.”

The dwarf scurried back a few steps, clearly intimidated by the lizard’s demands. “H-Hard to say, at a glance.

“C’mon, make yourself useful! There’s got to be something you can do...” Lohse crossed her arms, her expression more impatient.

“Well...I might be able to tell you exactly what’s inside you. Might be any number of things: A ghost, a floater, a lucid dreamer who took a wrong turn somewheres...Let me try something...” he approached her, placing a thumb on each of her temples and one foot gently on hers. “Now, l-e-e-e-t’s see... WHOA!” the dwarf launched backwards, as if being pushed away by an invisible force and crashed flat on his back. “Holy, holy, holy...” he exclaimed, getting back onto his feet. “You oughta thank your lucky stars that thing hasn’t turned you into a meat puppet by now!”

“Crick on a cracker...” Lohse cursed and rolled her eyes.

“You need help. _Serious_ help.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Any tips on how it dies?” The Black Death raised a brow, his tone flat yet aggressive. The dwarf pursed his lips in contemplation.

“Do me a favour: Get out of here, and hie ye to the north of Driftwood. My old master was hot on the heels of something there, and if anyone can help you, he can.”

Lohse nodded along. “Driftwood. Old master. Hot heels. Got it.”

“And what’s your master’s name?” the lizard continued, wanting all the information he could possibly get. For now, Lohse’s passenger hadn’t revealed itself to him, but he heard what it did to Nat. He heard Saheila’s warning: Lohse could not go near her or that thing would do everything in its power to kill her. Of course the easiest solution was to kill Lohse. No Lohse, no spirit. However, the woman was relatively innocent in all of this. It wasn’t her fault she was possessed by whatever this was. And with Nat’s unknown whereabouts and Lohse under his watch, he could at least protect her by keeping Lohse with him.

“I...don’t dare say it now. Not while her _guest_ is listening. Don’t you worry. With something like that inside you Lohse, he’ll either come to you, or you’ll be drawn to him soon enough,” the dwarf promised. “Now I’d thank you kindly to leave.”

“In a minute dwarf,” The Black Death grit his teeth, peering out of the cell door. “It looks like the Reds are interrogating someone,” he observed, squinting his eyes. “If we get too close they’ll see us. We don’t have weapons and if they have arrows we’ll be stuck before I can get my claws in their throats.”

“We can try flanking them,” Ifan suggested. “There’s a chest right next to this cell, I’d bet the Magisters keeps confiscated weapons in there. “I’ve seen Lohse cast magic, and unless you’ve some kind of deformity, you can breathe fire can you not?”

A smirk flashed across The Black Death’s lips. He scarcely liked many people, but Ifan he liked. He was clearly a soldier. As one who once served, he could tell from the man’s posture, the way he strategized, the way he knew the layout of this prison after only been in it for five minutes. “I’m better with a sword,” he stated flatly. “But I can burn them, provided I can get close enough.”

“What about you Beast?” Ifan focused on the dwarf, cocking his head.

“I cast as much as I crush. I can petrify those Reds and hack them to rubble once I get m’hands on an axe or two!”

“Alright...here’s what we’re going to do...”

The plan was simple enough. The Black Death was going to serve as a distraction while Ifan, Lohse and Beast snuck about to get the high ground. The spoils of the chest were not what Ifan was hoping for, but they managed to craft some mediocre weapons from what was available. It was certainly better than nothing.

Stealth was not his speciality. That being said, he was getting awfully close for the Magisters to not spot him. Something had them distracted already, and as The Black Death approached, he realized they were beating down another Magister. The lizard slid behind a pillar before his presence was noticed, listening to the Houndmaster interrogate his colleague.

“How many was it Del?” the Houndmaster kicked Del’s side, causing the man to curl on the floor and wince in pain. “How many of ‘em did you let go?”

“I...I” Del coughed, holding onto his bruising ribs.

“Go on speak! That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

“It...it isn’t... right.”

The Black Death raised a brow. There were Magisters rebelling? This was an unexpected advantage...provided the sod lived long enough to give him some answers.

“That right Del?” The Houndmaster grabbed Del by the scruff and pulled him to his feet, except the man had no strength to stand on them so his feet merely dragged along the floor. “Isn’t right to save the entire realm from Divine-damned chaos!?” he spat in his face and threw him back down.

Del coughed a bit of blood. “Please...”

“Gods know how much blood you have on your hands? You can’t let ‘em go! This is our only hope against the Voidwoken! I ought to feed you to my hounds for this treachery!”

“Psst...” a faint noise got his attention. Up above him, Ifan stared at him with a confused expression and pointed back to the Magisters. The Black Death nodded, pointing to his ear as a way to tell him he was eavesdropping.

Quickly sliding back into view, the lizard rushed forward, rusty sword drawn but kept casually at his side. The Houndmaster snapped his head away from Del, his dark grey eyes narrowing. “Sourcerer! What do you think you’re doing prowling around inside the fort?!”

The Black Death matched the Houndmaster’s intimidating stare, and while it didn’t frighten the Houndmaster, the other Magisters were quick to take a step back. “I’m here to kill Magisters,” he answered with a toothy grin. “Must be my lucky day.”

“Heh. That’s almost cute,” he looked the lizard up and down, whistling for one of his hounds. “Dunno if my hounds’ll make much of lizard meat. Even dogs have standards.”

The hound lowered its head, baring its teeth. It made a move to lunge before it was struck in the skull by an arrow.

The Houndmaster’s eyes went wide. “AMBUSH!” He hollered, drawing his blade, a beautiful sword compared to the rusted blunt edge that The Black Death was currently armed with. The other Magisters had their arrows trained upwards, looking for Ifan and the others, who remained unseen. Then, from the shadows, Beast leapt into the fray with a battle cry that could rival his own. He jumped a ranger from behind, swinging twin axes into her back and kicking her off from the platform on which she stood. Ifan continued to fire arrows from the shadows, while Lohse used her magic to electrocute anyone that tried to get the jump on Beast.

The Black Death eyed the Houndmaster; this prey was his and his alone. He lunged forward, his sword clashing with his foe’s. Blood pumped through his veins as he fought a worthy opponent, an opponent that didn’t make things so painfully easy. The Houndmaster had the better sword, its weight distributed evenly, its precision exact. He had good stance, good movement, was able to parry nearly every blow The Black Death delivered. However, he had one weakness: he was too confident. The Houndmaster knocked the lizard’s sword from his claws and made a lunge, a lunge meant to deliver a killing blow. The Black Death inhaled, his throat glowing, the fire of his rage burning, spreading from deep in his abdomen and up the length of his neck. The Houndmaster realized too late what was happening. He tried to stop his attack, he tried to dodge out of the way but it was too late. Flames burst from the lizard’s mouth, engulfing the Houndmaster as though he were paper.

A blood-wrenching scream escaped the man as he flailed around, burning alive with nothing to extinguish him. The Black Death picked up his sword, casually walking behind the wailing Magister and put him out of his misery, if only to shut him up. He left the sword in the man, allowing him to collapse with it, and then nabbed the dead man’s blade for himself, wiping the blade down and sheathing it in his belt. Ifan and Lohse hopped down from the rafters in which they were hiding, while Beast twirled his axes around, eying the carnage with an impressed look in his eye.

The only Magister left alive was Del, still laying defenceless on the ground. He reached to Beast, the closest to him. “Please” he coughed. “Please! Healing...I need healing!”

Beast eyed the man, keeping his axes lowered, knowing he was no true threat. “I tend not t’make business helpin’ Magisters.”

“A shepherd in wolf’s clothing. They beat me for _helping_ Sourcerers. Children. We were trying to...to help them _escape._ ”

“You’re helping children?” Lohse questioned, moving next to Beast. “Doesn’t all this kinda negate the whole being Divine Order? Aren’t you supposed to be all ‘Raaah Sourcerer bad’ kinda thing?”

“I joined...this order to serve the Divine. He would not...would never...accept this torture. It is...slavery! I serve the Divine. Not his son.”

“Lucian is dead,” The Black Death stared at him coldly.

Del weakly managed to pull his lips into a small smile. “I’m no fool. But his legacy is...alive. In all of us who...who long for justice. We can’t...can’t have that while his relics are being used against...civilians.”

“If you’re helping people to escape, you must know a way out of here,” Ifan pressed.

“There’s a boat that can take you into the dunes beyond. Two associates of mine run it. I can show you where. But...they’ll kill you on sight if you don’t know the proper password. Heal me...and I’ll gladly tell you.”

“Lohse, heal him.” Ifan instructed the woman, whom nodded in response and weaved her hands until they glowed a calming blue. She then pushed the magic over Del, enveloping him in a bright blue glow until it absorbed into his skin, stitching the wounds together until they vanished from him entirely.

Del coughed, rolling onto all fours and slowly clambering to his feet. “I...I feel it at work upon me already. Thank you. There is...a waterway. A boat...it isn’t far. You’ll meet some associates of mine. Tell them Madam Zoor sent you, and they’ll let you pass.”

Lohse raised a brow, and gave the man a coy look. “Never would’a taken you for a Madam Zoor. Maybe Lucille or Delorus.”

“Ha! I imagine not. She’s the headmistress of an orphanage in the far north – she keeps Sourcerer children safe from the Divine Order. I can think of no nobler soul in all the realm. With her help, we’ve saved countless children from Dallis and Alexander. And we aim to save many more.”

“And how many other ‘associates’ do you have?” Ifan asked. “Are there many Magisters working against the Divine Order?”

“Enough to matter. Not enough to stage a coup. The Voidwoken have people terrified – not only for their lives, but for the very air they breathe, the sun that shines upon them. Dallis and Alexander offer a solution. People need solutions at a time like this. No matter the consequences. Some people, anyway.”

“You’d best leave before more Magisters get here and see what’s happened,” Ifan continued, pointing the man away.

“You’ve given me a second life. I won’t soon squander it. Or forget what you’ve done. Thank you.”

And with that the Magister was limping off, leaving four Sourcerers and a pile of Magister corpses. Ifan retrieved his arrows while the rest of them looted the bodies, looking for better weapons and armour.

“You think if I dressed up in Magister garb I could pass off as one?” Lohse teased, throwing a red and white cloak over her after shamelessly stripping out of her tunic. “Looks pretty snappy doesn’t it?”

“Lass, I mean no offence when I say this,” Beast chuckled. “But I’d sooner believe tha’ pile o’ rocks o’er there to be a more convincing Magister than you.”

“Just keep breakin’ my heart Beasty!” she fake pouted. “Still keeping the robe, that other one was all scratchy.”

“Ha! Y’can say that again! This blasted thing’s been rubbin’ on my crotch for days!”

Lohse and Beast erupted with laughter, even Ifan chuckled a bit. The Black Death said nothing as he strapped on the Houdmaster’s chest piece, only slightly charred from his flames. Once they were all geared up, the company navigated the prison, following Del’s instructions to the boat. However, The Black Death would not be getting on that boat. He wouldn’t be going anywhere, not until he found Nat.

Ifan took the lead, guiding them up to a giant door, leading to the next level of the fort. It would likely be crawling with Magisters. Good. The more they took down, the better! After everything the damned Reds put him through, death was a nicety. The Black Death remained silent and observed as Ifan pulled a key from his boot and unlocked the door. When did he nab that? How did he nab that?

Once they got through the door, the lizard drew his blade, noticing several guards standing post but none reacted. His brow furrowed as he walked down the damp corridor, passing at least three of these ‘guards’ in crimson robes. They said nothing, did nothing, hells they didn’t even blink. Approaching one, the lizard cocked his head to the side. It was a dwarf, at least it looked like a dwarf. Its mouth was stitched and its eyes were black. The Black Death snapped his clawed fingers at it. The creature only responded with a muffled groan. “What in all the hells is this abomination?” he growled.

“Poor bastard,” Beast frowned. “Look’s like he’s had the life sucked outta him. He’s just a husk.”

“I think he was a Sourcerer...” Lohse leaned in, her face distressed. “Is this what the Magisters are doing to us? Is this their cure?”

The Black Death curled his hand into a fist, his claws scoring into his palm and drawing blood.

“I thought I’d seen the worst life could offer,” Ifan glanced away. “I was wrong.”

“This can’t happen to her...I won’t let this happen to her!” the lizard shook his fist, his rage boiling. In one swift movement he grabbed the lifeless dwarf by the face and twisted, snapping its neck.

“What are you—” Lohse exclaimed but The Black Death cut her off.

“This creature is nothing more than a soulless husk. What I just did was a mercy! And when I slaughter these Magisters, they’ll wish I killed them this quickly!” he snarled. No Magister on this island would breathe when he was through with this place. Fort Joy would run red!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I feel like I've been in a rut writing this chapter, it took me a bit to finish it. It's a lot easier getting into Nat's head, and as I've mentioned before, I don't really have Lohse or Beast in my party so writing them was a bit challenging but I hope I did okay. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and leave a like/comment if you did. It means a lot :)
> 
> Stay safe and stay home.


	10. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fane finds a face-ripper. The group escapes Fort Joy.

The elf whispered incoherently, jolting up from her dreams. She never remembered what nightmares plagued her, nor what dreams visited her; she could only recall the emotions that they caused. Normally, she’d wake with anxiety, but she could never remember what she dreamed of to frighten her. Her chest felt heavy, and upon further inspection, she found her cat curled up on her, only waking when she moved and disturbed his slumber.

“ _Mmm...Hey! Why’d you wake me up?_ ” the cat complained, stepping off of her and curling up into her side. _“So comfy...”_ he purred, soothing himself back to sleep. If only she could pull off something like that.

“Bad dreams?” Sebille got her attention with raised a brow, sitting up from her bedroll and stretching her arms.

“I...don’t recall...” her face scrunched in some attempt to recall the specifics. Glancing around the cave, she spotted The Red Prince resting while Fane kept watch. He was particularly interested in the fire slugs and kept on documenting them.

“Well, we’d best get His Royal Redness up and moving before the Magisters figure out we’re down here.”

Nathalienne nodded, rolling up her sleeping bag and gathering her bow from the ground. When Fane noticed the women rise from their sleep, he tucked his book away and got The Red Prince up. Then came the task of getting passed the slugs. Nathalienne could only hope that these creatures wouldn’t attack on sight. Talking to animals wouldn’t do jack if they didn’t want to converse but rather kill. She carefully led the way down to the nest, the heat coming from the slugs and steam geysers caused her to sweat.

Continuing down to a barren dirt bed with trails of fire, they were confronted by a lone fire slug, separated from the others. It gurgled in warning, steam emitting from its glowing orange body. Nathalienne held her hands out to her company, telling them to stop and cautiously moved closer to the slug.

“ _You there! Willowy limb-beast! You’re trespassing in the Princess’s Royal Court!_ ” it declared with a voice of regality.

“ _Princess?_ ” Nathalienne raised a brow. She’d never known many creatures to have this sophisticated of a social hierarchy.

The slug bobbed its head back in disbelief. “ _You’ve never heard of Her Royal Highness, Princess Zenthia of the Firelands?!_ ”

The elf shook her head.

“ _To be forgotten...truly the cruellest part of that dog Braccus Rex’s punishment – every creature in the world should know and love the Princess! You would be wise to leave here. My Princess is already in a foul mood; to have an uninvited guest show such ignorance would only inflame her further!”_

“ _I apologize for the intrusion but my company and I require passage through here to escape. Pray tell, what has your Princess in such a foul mood?”_

“ _She’s fed up of being trapped in this cavern of course! She wants the curse of Braccus to be removed, so that she can find a prince who’s worthy of her hand in marriage! Until she is free of the tyranny of Braccus, her mood will only darken, I fear. Her own courtiers can do little to cheer her, and outsiders...well, outsiders rarely survive her wrath.”_

Her eyes fixed on the slug. If it was referring to Braccus Rex, that would make these creatures well over a thousand years old. _“Braccus Rex is long gone,”_ she explained. “ _The Divine Order controls this place now.”_

“ _Truly? Then perhaps the tyrant has fallen, and my princess might be free! Be sure to tell her – it’ll raise her spirits to no end!”_

The slug turned away, leaving a trail of fire behind it. Nathalienne moved back to her companions, all of them staring at her like she had five heads.

“Well, that was certainly educational,” Fane said, while jotting more down in his book. “I’d love to know how you can throw your voice in such a way that you sound exactly like the species you’re speaking to. I never imagined a humanoid larynx had such capabilities.”

Nathalienne gave him a sarcastic look in response. “I’d love to know how you can form speech, considering you don’t even _have_ a larynx.”

“Oh that? Why it’s rather easy actually. I simply project my voice into your heads,” he explained not seeming to catch the elf’s sarcasm and went back to his book.

She rolled her eyes and relayed the information on Princess Zenthia to the others. “We should proceed with caution, but she should let us pass once we tell her Braccus Rex is dead.”

“Braccus Rex?” The Red Prince scowled. “I’d read about his exploits on Reaper’s Eye. I never expected to see it up close.”

“We should hurry along,” Sebille cut in, her forehead beaded with sweat. “I’d rather not roast alive down here.”

Nathalienne continued in the lead, carefully stepping between two fire trails winding down the rocky slopes of the cavern. The temperature continued to rise as they reached the cornucopia of slugs. Her throat burned with each inhale, the heat radiating from the slugs threatened to burn her flesh if she lingered much longer. Sitting atop a ledge overlooking the rest of the slugs was a much larger specimen. Nathalienne could only assume she was the Princess.

“ _You there!”_ the slug barked, stretching its eyes towards her. _“Whatever you are...did Braccus send you? Is he ready to apologize?”_

Nathalienne bowed her head slightly. _“Milady, your courtier has told me of your plight. Braccus Rex has been dead for centuries. You’re free to do as you please.”_

“ _He’s gone?”_ she exclaimed. _“You’re absolutely, positively sure...?! That means...that means I’m free! I can take suitors, find myself a real prince, not like that scoundrel Braccus! I’ve lost too much time on that wastrel Braccus as it is! Take this proclamation and see that all hear of it – Princess Zenthia of the Firelands is free once more! Go now! I expect the most eligible kings and suitors to be petitioning for my hand in marriage as soon as possible!”_

“ _Thank you milady,”_ Nathalienne bowed her head once more and waved the others to follow her up to the ledge and away from the scorching heat surrounding them. Even the cold-blooded lizard seemed to be having issues with the intensity of the heat. The elf wiped the sweat from her brow, the air cooling as they continued down a winding path cut between a massive rock face. The tunnel ended, and Nathalienne found herself in a prison cell...and not alone.

“Who are you? Who are you?” A pale blue lizard clung to her chest, her giant yellow eyes wide with fear. “You get out of here! Where are the guards? Guards! Help!”

“No! No!” the elf held up her hands but before she could say or do anything else, Sebille had rushed forward, her blade drawn and pressed firmly against the lizard’s throat. “Sebille!” she harshly whispered. She understood the lizard had to keep quiet, but killing her seemed a bit excessive.

“Fret not darling,” Sebille gave her a smirk, darting her cat eyes back to the petrified lizard prisoner. “It’s a lot easier to keep someone quiet when a knife is at their throat,” she turned back to the lizard. “I’d suggest you say silent. If the Magisters come, we’re all going to be in trouble. And we don’t want trouble,” Sebille loosened the dagger as the lizard gave her a nod of understanding.

“Alright! I...I just...they do terrible _things_ here. If they think for a _second_ I’m trying to escape again, they’ll do to me what they did to _h-him_.”

Whispers echoed in Nathalienne’s head, scurrying, gnawing, burrowing. Her head began to ache, her vision losing focus. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed the noises out, keeping her sole focus on the here and now,

“What have you seen?” Sebille pressed.

“Not seen. Heard.” the lizard darted her vision in all directions, checking for her captors to return. “There’s a man over there, They tortured him. Questioned him. ‘Seekers,’ something about ‘Godwoken’. He didn’t know anything, but they didn’t care. I heard his screams. I heard something... _eating_ him. From the inside. Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw. It can’t happen to me. It _can’t_. It can’t, it can’t, it can’t...”

The ache in her head got worse. The whispers got louder but none of their words made sense. It was all tormented gibberish.

“We’re pretty set on getting off this little prison isle fork-tongue,” Sebille furrowed her brows, teasing her dagger along the lizard’s flesh. “How did you manage to escape?”

“Shht! You _can’t_ escape. Don’t you know what’s outside the Fort? I tried to leave. I heard of a shelter in the Hollow Marshes, a place where Sourcerers could go...The undead had their hands on me in five minutes. Shredding, tearing. I came limping back, and now...now...now...”

“We can’t stay here...” Nathalienne held her pounding head, her teeth clenched. “It’s not safe, we need to leave!”

“Outside the bones are gnashing. In here the Magisters are...are cutting, slicing, grinding, smashing...What to do! Ungh, what to do...”

Sebille glanced to Nat then back to the prisoner. “You do what you like. I’m on a hunt, and I’ve no intent of dying here.”

“Poor thing. Poor fool. I hope it’s an easy death, then. Decapitation! Yes, I do wish that for you. Take care, take care.”

The lizard had clearly gone mad. She was so fearful of what lay outside the fort that she would rather stay in a cell. “We can’t stay here...” Nathalienne repeated, the whispers turned to screams, painful, dreadful screams.

_GET OUT!_

_GET OUT!_

_GET OUT!_

“Agh!” she winced quietly, watching Sebille saunter towards the door and pull a set of lock picks from her belt. She maneuvered the picks around until the lock clicked, and opened the door. Nathalienne followed Sebille out, with Fane and The Red Prince close behind, leaving the mad lizard to quiver and mutter to herself in her cell.

The stench of blood was quick to flood her senses, along with the mass littering of corpses all over the floor. Sebille and The Red Prince had their weapons drawn immediately, moving silently through the prison corridor. The screaming in Nathalienne’s head was enough to make her cover her ears. The dead here were not at peace. The bodies around her cracked and contorted, their eyes black and their mouths stitched.

_GET OUT!_

_GET OUT!_

_GET OUT!_

“What...are these things?” Sebille wondered, nudging one of the bodies with her foot. It snapped its head to her but she couldn’t see it, none of them could see.

“Don’t touch it...” Nathalienne took a step forward, her eyes fixed on the dwarf’s body. “It’s staring right at you...”

“Honey, you know it’s _dead_ , right? Whatever this thing was, its days of staring are long gone.”

“No...you don’t...” she trailed off, an agonized groan taking her attention away. The dead surrounded her, their broken bodies limp in blood red cloth. They pointed to a door.

_Verdas. Verdas. Verdas. He cannot die here! He cannot die here!_

“Verdas...” Nathalienne whispered. With a blink she had returned, the dead remained unmoved and she stood in front of a cell door, slightly ajar.

“Where is she going?” Sebille questioned from behind her, her voice barely audible.

“Apparently wherever invisible spectres tell her,” The Red Prince scoffed. “Bloody mystics.”

The voices of her companions were no more than background noise. Pressing her palm against the door, she gently pushed it open, her eyes focused to an elf on floor. Nathalienne stepped closer, kneeling before him. His skin was pale as a corpse, for all she knew he could have been dead. His face contorted with inscrutable emotion – joy, horror and rapture flashed over him like the changing surface of a pond. His eyes shot open, bloodshot and pitch black. She jumped back, watching his chest rise and fall.

“IT’S YOU!” he writhed, reaching a hand towards her.

Nathalienne moved back, her eyes narrowing on him. “Verdas...” she examined him more closely to see what exactly ailed him. “What did they do to you?”

“YOU! Oh, love, they’ve been looking high and low for you!” He spasmed suddenly. “Do you know Dallis? She fears us. Of course she does. She knows what we’ll do.”

“What do you mean?” she removed her glove, cautiously inching her hand closer to him.

“Don’t!” The Red Prince snapped, his voice making her jump. Snapping her attention to him as he stepped into the cell with a questioning glance. “We have no idea what’s been done to him and we certainly don’t want him passing his madness onto you.”

“That’s not exactly how it works...but I see your point,” she put her glove back on and looked back to Verdas. “Dallis murdered a Magister for helping our kind. What does she think we’ll do?”

“Atusa! A noble soul. Brave. Trying to help me. Trying to help many of us. But I was...they thought I could...maybe I could have...Unghh.” he thrashed, his eyes rolling back in his head. “You need to go...Dallis...after she took me...she did something – my head...I feel like someone’s rummaging their fingers through my skull! Get out, while you can...”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Fane said, as though he were reading her mind. “Whatever has been done to him, it’s spread through his entire body. I doubt he’ll last much longer.”

Nathalienne squeezed her eyes shut. It brought her discomfort to leave a man to die like this. She gently placed a hand on his cheek, bidding him a saddened farewell. “I’m so sorry...”

Verdas brought his hand over to hers, almost comforted by the touch. “Bye bye, love. Tell ‘em I say hello when you make it out. They’ll be looking for me. Tell them...”

She nodded, sliding her hand away and rising to her feet. This was what the Magisters were doing to them? This was the lengths they would take to stop Voidwoken?! They weren’t even treating Sourcerers as people! Nathalienne followed her companions out of the cell and continued to search the prison for a way out.

At the end of the corridor, they found Magister bodies amidst the others but these were different. The bodies in red hoods all had their necks snapped. Their deaths were quick, painless, but these Magisters...they died in a fight, a rather gruesome one at that. One Magister was burned beyond recognition, even his bones were beginning to melt. “Who could have done this?” she questioned more so to herself than anybody else. It was clear that they were not the only Sourcerers with enough cunning to make it down here.

“I think I’ve found our way out,” Fane beckoned for her, pointing up a small set of stairs to a large set of double doors. “I suspect it’ll be crawling with Magisters, we’d best be careful, I’d rather not be ambushed.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” she gestured to the mass of corpses around them. “Whoever did this probably went up there to finish their work.”

“Then less Magisters for us to deal with,” The Red Prince added impatiently, waving his hand forward as a way of rushing her to the doors. “Let’s move along shall we?”

No sooner said than done, the four Sourcerers moved through the door, meeting with another heap of bodies. Nathalienne observed the lifeless corpses, all with broken necks, but none of them were Magisters; unless they began stitching their mouths. She continued to explore, trying not to put too much focus on the dead, lest they began to speak to her. Her only focus was to search for anything that may be out of the ordinary: a switch, a drain pipe, anything that could lead to some secret way out.

_Blood._

Nathalienne snapped her head to the side, her bright eyes focusing on a small puddle of blood in the cobblestone. The air around her went cold the longer she stared, watching the puddle trail into a tiny red river, seeping down a corridor.

_Follow. Blood._

“This way,” she directed, her voice not quite her own. The stream of blood moved rather quickly down the corridor, almost urging for her to hurry. She followed, only stopping when a rancid, rotten stench burned her nose.

_Stolen blood... Flesh not freely given..._

“Agh! That smell!” The Red Prince’s face soured as he covered his nose. “I think I’m going to be sick!”

“I don’t even have a nose and I can smell that,” Fane shook his head, clearly bothered.

“The stench of death,” Sebille scrunched her nose but otherwise made no complaints. “A lot of death.”

“I hope you’ve a good reason for bringing us this way!” The Red Prince complained, keeping his hand clasped over his nose.

“Shh!” Nathalienne pressed a finger to her lips. “Something vile lives down here...”

“If that’s the case then let’s turn around and find another way out!” the lizard argued.

Nathalienne ignored him, following the blood down a set of steps and into a room littered with torture racks and body parts. Stale blood trickled down rusted drain pipes, the stench was strong enough to churn her stomach. Flames flickered from the torches on the walls streaked with red. The hairs on her arms stood up on end, the spirits wailed in torment, in fear, in rage.

_Come and play with us. Come and play with us._

The elf tried to push away the pounding in her head, the multitude of dead here was overwhelming. She stopped again, noticing a Magister with his back towards them, he seemed to be talking to a hooded dwarf in crimson robes; robes just like the ones on the bodies in the prison. Standing there, frozen in a trance, the elf merely stared at the back of the Magister’s head, waiting for him to notice her.

Bandaged hands gripped onto her arms, pulling her out of her state and behind a wall. Silence. Fane. Nathalienne’s vision refocused to the cloaked skeleton holding her against the wall. Sebille and The Red Prince stood on either side of her, Sebille craning her neck to see if the Magister had spotted them.

“Have you lost your mind?” she scolded the younger elf, her cat eyes narrowing on her. “We need a strategy. Don’t just stand there like an open invitation!”

Nathalienne blinked a couple of times, regaining herself. “Sorry...” she muttered, unable to explain exactly what came over her.

Fane released her and peered over the wall. “Have you seen these contraptions? This must be the ‘Magister freak Kniles’ the blacksmith was referring to. He may have the very tool I need to craft my mask!” he looked to Nathalienne with a puzzled expression across his figure. “You knew we had to come down this way to find him, is that what your strange behaviour and incoherent muttering was all about?”

“It’s...” she trailed off. “It’s not that simple. I just...see things, I hear things, and they lead me to where I need to be.”

“Interesting. I shall have to make further study of it. For the time being, I have to see a Magister about tearing off faces,” he seemed strangely happy, and strode down towards Magister Kniles.

“Damned idiot!” The Red Prince hissed between clenched teeth. “I’ll wager he’s going to get himself killed.”

“Presuming he can even die,” Nathalienne knit her brow, peering over to Fane who had just caught the Magister’s attention. “We need to get closer. If things go sour he’s a sitting duck.”

“Yes and pray tell, whose fault is that?” the lizard shot her a glare and began to assess the situation. “I can only see one potential opponent aside from the Magister. There’s something in that cage beside it, but I can’t see it well from here.”

“I can snuff out the dwarf,” Sebille smirked, drawing her daggers. “It won’t even see me coming.”

The Red Prince’s face was set in concentration. He was strategizing, planning, putting the chess pieces on the board. “Sebille, stay out of sight, get behind the dwarf. Don’t strike until I give the signal,” he instructed firmly, showing her a hand gesture that was meant to be the signal.

While the other two talked battle strategy, Nathalienne kept her gaze fixed on Fane and Kniles, watching intently as Fane cheerfully tugged on the Magister’s cheeks. What in all the hells was he doing? Kniles broke into a wide grin. Something about this made her stomach churn, and it wasn’t the rotten stench of death and stale blood. Focusing on him, she managed to just hear him speak to the skeleton.

“My my, a fellow aficionado! How rare to meet someone else interested in the corporal arts. Won’t you stay?” he spoke with a luring, aroused voice and continually kept touching Fane’s hand. Fane seemed oblivious to what Kniles was doing.

“Indeed!” Fane pulled his hand back to his side nonchalantly. “I am quite fascinated by the workings of the mortal body. Especially their faces...and the removal thereof. I am searching for a tool to help me rip a face from a corpse.”

Kniles’ grin widened and the look in his eye made the unease in her stomach worsen. “Did I say aficionado? My sweet boy, you are a connoisseur! Flayed faces. How _delightfully_ old-fashioned. As it happens, I do have a toy you might find useful.”

“You do?” Fane cocked his skull to the side.

“Mmhmm...But nothing comes for free, my dear. And I’m sorry to say you have nothing that I want. But don’t you worry, there’s still lots we can do together,” he ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Ugh! I’m not here for games, I just need to rip the faces from corpses! Why is this so hard to understand!?”

This was bad. This was really bad! Nathalienne snapped her attention to The Red Prince; Sebille had already slunk her way through the shadows to her position. “We need to intervene!” she stated with urgency, pulling an arrow from her quiver and lining up a shot - a warning shot.

“Hold –” the prince began but it was too late.

She released the arrow and watched it graze Kniles’ face, leaving a small cut on his cheek. He touched the cut, swiping away the tiny droplet of blood that exited the wound. “You missed darling,” he cooly called out, his voice amused.

“What are you _doing_!?” The Red Prince mouthed, his ember eyes aglow in rage.

“Getting his attention before he straps Fane to a table!” she whispered back as if it weren’t already obvious.

“How about you come out dear?” Kniles beckoned. “I’d hate to send my playmates after you, I’m sure we can discuss things civilly.”

Nathalienne looked to The Red Prince who rolled his eyes. “You and I are going to need to have a long chat if we get out of this alive,” he scolded her and then thought for a moment. “Go out there. Distract him while I think up a new plan. And by the gods when I give you the signal to start firing arrows you’d better damned well listen!”

“On my honour,” she nodded with mild sarcasm and stepped into the open, arrow drawn and trained on the Magister. She moved closer to him, cautiously and with the intention of drawing his attention away from The Red Prince’s location.

Kniles held his hands up but his expression did not match his body language. He was toying with her. He had a trump card and was waiting to play it. His brows raised as steel eyes looked her over. “Mmm, who are you, you lovely little fairy?” he moved in a fraction of a second, and was suddenly gone, as though he had just vanished into thin air. She didn’t take into account that he knew magic. A foolish oversight. He appeared behind her, a dagger pointed to the small of her back. Fane lowered into a combat stance, his hands charging with magic, prompting Kniles to raise the blade to her throat “Let’s not be reckless my dear,” he warned, watching Fane dissipate the spell and stand straight. “Now, let’s drop the weapon shall we?” Kniles instructed the elf in his grasp.

_Shit!_

Now it was she who raised her arms up, letting her bow crash to the floor. She looked to Fane, then to the bow and back to Fane. Knilesremoved his blade and sheathed it, turning her around to face him, his lustful eyes taking her in as though she were a meal for him to devour. Reaching forward, he traced her collarbone with his finger, a flood of vile memories filling her mind. He cut, tore, ate, sewed, defiled the dead, defiled the flesh. The mortal body was his favourite toy, and his ideas of play were...revolting. She slapped his hand away, his very touch tainted her being.

“Ah-ah. Easy,” he grabbed her forearms and pulled her close against him, revealing just how _excited_ he was. “Ungh...So fascinating! Living bark. Living _wood_.”

“Stop touching me!” she snarled, her voice beginning to mimick his as the early memories of his youth consumed her. “ _Abstinence. Chastity. You_ _named your knives,_ _carve_ _them into_ _flesh_ _,_ _flay it from bones, teaching the lesson_ _like Mama_ _tought_ _you..._ ” the elf squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to break free. She didn’t want to be in his head, the things he did were not things she wanted to witness, nor recall how fondly he remembered them.

“Mmm...” The Magister moaned. “I would have thought you’d have to run your tongue over me to get into my head like that, you’re a unique little girl aren’t you? Well darling, please, DO make yourself at home,” he took her hand and rubbed his cheek into her palm like a cat looking for affection. “This sweet boy and I were just getting acquainted, and I do love extra company, especially when they’re as... _invasive_ as you.” he gestured one arm to Fane, while the other coiled around her like a snake.

Wretched thoughts poisoned her mind. He wanted to cut them, to bleed them, to stitch them together, to create little monsters he could play with. Just like the ones he kept in cages. Just like the silent ones that he could control. “We’ll have to pass,” she bared her teeth, her gaze piercing over his shoulder to Fane, desperately trying to get him to read her. They needed a strategy. If The Red Prince and Sebille came out of position, it could end very badly. They must have known that, as they remained hidden and unseen.

He pulled her in closer, his face uncomfortably close to hers. She could smell the rot on his breath. “Tut tut! I won’t hear anything to the contrary. And there’s nowhere for you to go, love. Please stay with me in my...playground,” he closed the small space between them, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. The elf let out a gasp of shock and pain, giving him the opportunity to invade further. His tongue forced its way down her throat, probing and violating.

A muffled, disgusted scream escaped her. His memories invaded her to the point that she felt the same desire to carve flesh from bone. It took every ounce of willpower to let that desire consume her, to become him. He would not further taint her with this invasion! Her teeth clamped down with massive force, cutting through his tongue with a burst of blood. The thick, metallic tasting liquid slid down her throat, making her cringe. Kniles’ eyes shot open and a painful groan escaped him. Nathalienne whipped her head from side to side, shaking it in two quick jerks and pulled back, ripping his tongue out with a spraying gush of blood. She spat the warm, wet appendage onto the stone, her eyes aglow in rage.

Blood spewed from his mouth, he was in too much shock to fully comprehend what she just did. Muffled screams left his crimson-soaked lips, his hands covering his mouth to stem the bleeding. Fane took the Magister’s painful distraction as an opportunity to attack. He snapped his bony fingers, magic igniting like flint upon a stone and blasting outwards, setting any perceived enemy in its radius aflame. Nathalienne leapt away, her heart racing as she watched Kniles go up in a blaze. The dwarf standing guard readied their spear but Sebille cut their throat before they could move. The Red Prince joined the fray, sword drawn when the creatures in the cages broke free of their prisons. Nathalienne reclaimed her bow from the floor, firing at the flayed monsters that came at them.

The Red Prince, sword armed at the ready, cleaved clean through a meat puppet. Nathalienne continued firing arrows and Sebille weaved through her opponents with the ease and grace of a dancer, killing a crimson-robed creature that snuck up on them from below. Fane cast spell after spell, from mosquito swarms to lighting and everything in between. Finally, the last of their opponents fell, leaving the four Sourcerers with a moment to breathe.

“Well...” Nathalienne spat more blood from her mouth. “That was extremely unpleasant,” she turned to Fane and gestured to Kniles’ body, burnt and smoking on the floor. “Let’s get your face-ripping tool and get the hell out of here.”

They searched Kniles’ body, finding a key but no face-ripper. Nathalienne dreaded the idea of having to touch him to find out where he stashed it and hoped they could find it without her needing to do so. Sebille looted his daggers and looked them over. Engraved on the hilts were the words _Abstinence_ and _Chastity_ respectively. “Abstinence and Chastity?” she raised her brow. “Judging from his charming personality, I’d say he chose these names ironically.”

“He didn’t,” Nathalienne muttered under her breath.

“You alright?” Sebille questioned, touching her forearm and quickly removing it when she realized she’d touched the fellow elf’s skin. “Right. Stupid question.”

“Let’s just avoid sadistic Magister lunatics henceforth.”

Sebille chuckled, offering Nathalienne her flask. “Here, should help get his blood out of your mouth at least.”

“Thanks,” she took the flask, downing the hard liquor, ignoring the burn in her throat as it went down. “I needed that.”

While the elves drank and searched for a way out, Fane perused through the torture racks and tables littered with body parts and gore. If his tool was going to be anywhere around here, it would likely be hidden under the mess. Nathalienne stayed far away, not wanting anything more to do with this place or the haunted souls that lingered here. Finally, Fane found what he was looking for: a rather elaborate looking tool with enough blades on it to make anyone nervous. The skeleton, however, seemed rather pleased with his find, commenting on taking a few samples while they were here.

“Please, for the love of Lucian, don’t collect any in our vicinity!” The Red Prince begged with a look of disgust. Nathalienne had to agree, she wasn’t sure if she could stomach watching a face being torn from a corpse.

Suddenly, a sniffle caught her attention. She paused, unsure if she what she heard was nothing, until she heard it again. The elf arched a brow, perking her ears up as the sniffling turned to sobbing. “Does anyone else hear that?” she questioned. Normally she could easily distinguish noise from the living and that of spirits but in this ‘playground’, everything was mixed.

The others went silent and then turned in the direction the crying came from. They could hear it too. Following the noise to a locked iron cell, the elf used Kniles’ key, opening the door. On the other side, hidden in the corner, crouched in a pool of blood, was a child. Her knees were curled into her chest, her dark hair streaked wet with red. She didn’t appear injured, it was highly unlikely that all that blood belonged to her, but seeing her in such a state was still disturbing. Nathalienne’s eyes narrowed, unable to grasp the fact that a _child_ was down here. “Are you hurt? Can you tell me your name?” she asked, crouching down in front of the young girl, examining her to make sure Kniles didn’t do anything to her.

The child raised her head and shook it, her dark brown eyes red and wet with tears. “My name is Trice...” she tugged her knees in closer. “I don’t like it down here...don’t like it at all...A bad man found me on the beach and brought me here, but I slipped away as soon as we got here.”

“It’s alright,” she assured the child, unsure of what else to say to comfort her. She was never exposed to children, she had no idea how to handle them. “The bad man is dead.”

“Please help me get out! I just want to go to the beach and play with my shells again...but that grate is too heavy for _me_ ,” she pointed to a massive grate sticking out from the stone wall.

“That grate likely leads out of the fort,” Fane announced, examining the rusted bars. “If I could get a hand, we should be able to pry it off and crawl through. You’ve made a good discovery, small human,” he praised Trice. With some assistance from Sebille, the two managed to slide the grate from the pipe. The Red Prince refused to sully his claws any further and was still quite cross from earlier.

The smell was worse in the pipe than in the playground, it was enough to make Nathalienne gag. “Gods! There’s far worse than rotting bodies in there!” she exclaimed holding her nose and climbing into the pipe. Her hands and knees were slick with blood and who knows what other bodily fluids coating the innards of the metal trench. “Trice, you follow me and then someone will be right behind you,” she reached her hand to the girl, helping her up into the grate. Her cat; who had fled for safety back in the cavern of fire slugs, leapt up next to Trice as if from nowhere.

“ _Hrrrm, what is that thing?_ ” the cat cocked its head to the side, unimpressed that his new owner had picked up another stray. Nathalienne rolled her eyes, scratched the cat on his head and shooed him out to the other side so she could focus on Trice.

“Stay close,” she instructed the child and began to crawl forward, holding her breath for as long as she could before she had to suck in another gulp of air and hold it again. No one in their sane mind would be able to inhale this stench for an extended period of time. She was beginning to fear it would only lead them further into the fort.But as Nathalienne continued crawling, her eyes began to squint as a bright light shined through the end of the pipe. She’d reached the end. Her hands sank into muck and mire as she clambered out of the tunnel, nearly falling face first into murky swamp water mixed with body parts.

Catching herself, the elf scrambled to her feet, taking in her new surroundings. Gone were the sandy beaches of Fort Joy. Nathalienne was now surrounded by greenery, marshland and an annoying number of mosquitos. The smell of the marshes filled her nose, slowly replacing the previous scent of decay and death with the undeniable scent of nature and life. She had done it. She had escaped Fort Joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter took so long. I've been slowly working away at it but the end really took me some time to flesh out. Anyways I hope you're all enjoying the story and as always leave a like/comment if you like it :)
> 
> Hopefully next chapter won't take as long.


	11. The Hollowed Marshes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Death and his company fight their way out of the Fort. Nathalienne struggles with her culture and Fane finds a familiar foe.

Blood seeped into his scales, Magister blood. Any Red that he saw, any that he found, he saw them cut down. Their blood stained his claws, his sword, his teeth, he was practically covered horn to tail. Ifan led most of the battle tactics, allowing the lizard to charge in a blood rage while the others ambushed and flanked. To the Magisters, they’d only believe they were being challenged by one lizard, then the onslaught came from above. They charged, room by room, corridor by corridor, The Black Death was seeing red, his fury could only be satiated by blood, and even now that he had it, it wasn’t enough.

He remembered Aayla, he remembered Ohrenna. His rage for the Magisters almost equated the rage he’d felt when The House of War murdered his family. The Magisters now threatened his new family, the closest thing to a family he had since his wife and daughter were taken from him. They would not turn Nat into a stitched-mouthed puppet. He would not see the last remanent of what resembled a daughter become an empty vessel, compliant to whatever the Magisters would have her do. The Black Death could only hope that he was not too late. He took the fact that he hadn’t seen her in the fort or among the Silent Monks as a good sign.

Striding to the last set of doors he hadn’t broken down, The Black Death waited for Ifan’s signal and kicked the door with enough force to splinter the wood and break it from the hinges. Light burst through from outside and he heard a loud booming voice yell “TRESPASSER! SUBDUE THEM! AND MAKE SURE CORK DOESN’T LEAVE!”

The Black Death spread his arms wide, inviting the others to attack him, inviting them to try. He snarled, showing rows of blood-stained teeth. As the Magisters closed in, the lizard drew his blade and spun into action. Everything was a flurry of red, his eyes never focused on any one Magister for long, just enough to see where they were and where they were going to be. His sword clashed with a knight captain’s, and his eyes locked. The knight had one major disadvantage: his two-handed blade was too heavy. It made him slow, regardless of how well trained he was at using it. As a former soldier of The House of War, The Black Death knew exactly how to counter this. Lizards were trained not only in brute strength but in swift momentum. He spun, whipping the Magister with his tail, the force of the impact on the man caused a loud clang from where the armour bent. The Black Death maneuvered quickly, driving his blade deep into the knight while before he could regain his footing.

Arrows flew at him from nowhere, one striking him on the shoulder. He snarled though his teeth and ripped the arrow out, a spurt of blood following. “TAKE OUT THE ARCHERS!” He ordered, bringing his sword up to block an attack from a ginger-haired Magister. Ifan climbed atop the ramparts, aiming his crossbow and sniping the archers hidden behind the barricades around the fort. Lohse had also climbed to the high ground, weaving her hands to perform spells of lightning and fire. Fighting alongside him were Beast, roaring and throwing his axes, and a stranger, one who adorned the armour of the Paladins. Why was a Paladin fighting against Magisters? It scarcely mattered now, the only thing that mattered was cutting down every last Red. He vowed none would breathe and he was not one to break such a vow.

With the last of the Magisters dead, The Black Death turned his gaze to the Paladin, lowering his blade just slightly. The man was perhaps his age, maybe a few years older judging from the lines on his face. His greying chestnut hair was slick with sweat and blood, his dark brown eyes weary but focused. The Paladin sheathed his blade, prompting the lizard to follow suit. His companions also put their weapons away and rejoined The Black Death.

“By Lucian’s sword, these Magisters are madmen! Are you alright?”

The lizard chuckled. “A few jail guards aren’t the worst foes I’ve faced.”

“Not your first fight – that was clear to see. Always glad to have a veteran at my side...” the man paused, wiping a thick mixture of blood and sweat from his brow and spitting a tooth onto the ground. “ still can’t believe they have the gall to attack me. It’s high treason to go after a Paladin like that. We’re Divine Order, godsdammit! Our superiors will be _very_ interested to hear this.”

“Who are you planning on telling?” Ifan cut in, crossing his scarred arms over his chest. The Black Death was more than happy to let Ifan take over. Talking to people was never something he really enjoyed, even for the sake of getting information.

“Our grandmaster for one! Lord Kemm would never stand for this kind of nonsense. Thing is people on the mainland don’t know what goes on here. Never would have believed it myself until I saw it with my own eyes. But we’ve stood about talking long enough, and this place is no roadside tavern. It’s certain death if we keep lingering!”

Ifan nodded in agreement. “We’d best be moving on too.”

“I was once told there’s an old harbour on the far side of the island. And where there’s a harbour, there may be a boat...I must be off, and so should you. Best of luck to you! You deserve better than this place,” the Paladin gave a curt nod and took his leave.

“Well...” Beast exhaled, setting his palms onto his knees and hanging his head low to catch his breath. “That was loads o’ fun. I don’t think I killed that many people since commandeerin’ my ship...”

“Gettin’ outta shape Beasty?” Lohse stuck her tongue out, completely amused.

“I’ll have you know girly, I’m in better shape than a mountain troll!” he stood up straight, puffed out his chest and flexed his muscles comically. “Ah, but in all seriousness, we’d best consider checking out that harbour,” his one eye focused on The Black Death.

Ifan took his shoulder, noticing the lizard open his mouth to retaliate. “It’d be foolish to stay here. You’ve almost single handedly slaughtered every Magister in the fort. You decapitated the Judge who turned Sourcerers into...those Silent Monk creatures. We’ve searched everywhere for Nat,” he paused for a moment, taking his hand away when The Black Death’s body tensed. “We know that she’s alive, but I don’t think that she’s here.”

The Black Death exhaled, his claws tapping on Aayla’s skull. There was a good possibility that she already escaped. She would not linger in a place like this, but not knowing, not being absolutely certain...he once left without absolute certainty and it cost him his wife and daughter. Yet there was a pull...a voice deep in his consciousness, something was telling him that he had to leave the fort. “We’ll search the harbour,” he finally gave in. “No Magister lives.”

Ifan nodded once and led the group down the blood-soaked cobblestone to a set of doors that led to the harbour. It didn’t take them long to find more Magisters; Magisters who would soon stop drawing breath. _No Magister lives._ No one cloaked in red would survive his wrath, for he was Death incarnate. The Divine Order would burn, and he would breathe the flames that consumed them to ash. They would die. They would all die! The Black Death raced forward to the steps leading down to his prey. Reaching the landing of the steps, he leapt into the air with a massive inhale. On the exhale, he bathed his victims in fire, landing square in the middle of wailing Magisters and Silent Monks.

The Monks he cut through, he granted them mercy, but the Magisters...the Magisters he left alone to burn and scream. He leapt over the rail, eyeing two archers positioned by the docks. No Magister lives. He threw his shield with incredible force, bashing the archers with enough power to break their skulls. The Black Death sighed a calming breath and re-sheathed his weapon. He hadn’t noticed that the burning Magisters had stopped screaming; silenced by Ifan’s arrows. The lizard observed Ifan in silence, watching him pull his arrows from the charred bodies.

“I don’t see any boats,” Beast frowned. “But we’re outside the fort’s barricades, if we follow the beach, and steer clear of any Reds, we should make it out ‘til we find a vessel worth commandeering.”

“If we follow the beach we’ll be out in the open. We have to get into the wilds, it’ll make us more difficult to track,” Ifan said, mounting his crossbow and taking the lead once more. The Black Death strode silently behind the wayfarer, with Beast and Lohse close behind. They followed the beach, staying close to the fort’s walls to avoid being sniped by any potential overseers. Though, The Black Death was certain there weren’t any. He combed the fort clean, he had slain every Magister there. Still, there might have been a couple he missed. No harm in being too careful.

Turning round the curves and hills of sand, the Sourcerers finally saw wild lands. Lush greenery spread over the rocky cliffside and seeped outwards until it met the sandy beach. As they rushed into the dense swamp, the mosquitoes and humidity hit him like a bag of rocks. The humidity he could deal with, but the bugs...they were murder.

Ifan stopped, holding his fist up to tell the others to follow his action. The Black Death furrowed his brow, looking over Ifan’s shoulder and seeing a group of dead Magisters. “They’re already dead,” he rolled his eyes. “They won’t be mourned.”

“But who killed them?” Ifan questioned, raising his crossbow and scanning the wilds with intense green eyes. “Keep your guard up. There’s no telling if whoever killed these men were friend or foe.”

“Gods, it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Lohse made a face and swatted her arms at the mosquitoes that swarmed around her. “Magisters, mosquitoes, mystery Magister killers...could this get any...”

“AHHHHHHH!” a scream echoed through the air. Ifan moved quick as a shadow, his crossbow aimed, ready. The Black Death drew his sword, whipping around in the direction of the scream. Uncomfortable silence lingered in the air, dragging on for what felt like an eternity. No birds sang, no tree rustled, the Sourcerers held their breath.

“Were you gonna say worse?” Ifan cockily raised his brow.

* * *

The mire was filled with death. Nathalienne kept her fists clenched at her side, the overwhelming number of dead calling to her made her head pulse. If the rumours were true, these marshes were filled with undead, and she was pretty sure they were more prone to violence than Fane was. The elf scouted ahead, her footsteps light along the murky ground. The air was hot, humid and smelled of rotting wood and dank, stale water. Holding her hand in a death grip was Trice. The child had been stubbornly attached to her hip ever since they saved her from Kniles’ playground. Were all children so clingy? Of course, Nathalienne could understand the girl was afraid, but it made it difficult to scout when a small human refused to let go of her hand.

“You look a bit elfish,” Trice said, scanning the elf’s every feature.

“That’s because I’m an elf,” Nathalienne raised her brow. Surely the child was not that dense?

“Maybe your daddy was an elf. My daddy’s name is Freder. He’s waiting for me at home.”

“That’s...nice...”

From behind her, she could hear The Red Prince chuckling, clearly entertained by her inability to communicate with Trice.

“What’s your daddy’s name? Is he waiting for you?”

Nathalienne grit her teeth in obvious discomfort. “I don’t know. I never met him.”

“Did he die in the Deathfog?” Trice continued interrogating her with innocence only a child could have.

“I don’t know.”

“Do elves live in trees? My daddy said that elves live in trees.”

She stopped, taking her hand away from Trice and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know if elves live in trees, you should ask Sebille. She knows a lot more about elves than I do,” she could catch the intense glare from the aforementioned elf in her peripherals but she didn’t care. She didn’t like that she knew so little about her own kind, her own family, her heritage...and she certainly didn’t like being probed about it. Thankfully, Trice beamed at the prospect of learning more about elf things and ran to Sebille, bombarding her with all kinds of questions.

_CRACK!_

Nathalienne drew an arrow from her quiver and lined up a shot, the banging noise echoing in her ears. What in the hells was that!? An anguished, raspy cry followed, prompting the elf to investigate. Out of the safety of the trees and along the beach, she spotted an old woman tracing glyphs into the air. Fane gasped as he moved next to her, fixated on the woman upon the beach.

“It’s her! The wrinkled human that stole my mask. Please, I must speak with her.”

Nathalienne took his wrist, looking at him with concern. “I won’t deny you talk to her, but we need to be careful.”

“Agreed,” The Red Prince joined them, analyzing the old witch from the safety of the wilds. “You there, whatever your name is,” he beckoned Trice forward, freeing Sebille from an endless barrage of questions. “You stay here. _Stay._ You know stay, right?”

“She’s a little girl not a hound,” Nathalienne rolled her eyes. And here she thought she was bad with kids. Regardless, Trice nodded in understanding and remained hidden in the trees while the others ascended to confront the witch.

The closer they drew, the colder Nathalienne got. Darkness enveloped the witch in a hazy black aura. If she squinted, she could see black tendrils wrapped around the witch’s wrists and ankles, like puppet strings leading into an abyss of nothing. The witch angrily shot her hands into the sky, only summoning a sputter of smoke.

“My Lord! I’ve loved you. I’ve obeyed you. What’s my sin? How long must I suffer?!” she wailed in a recognizable rail-thin rasp. It was her! She was the woman that destroyed the ship to Fort Joy. The witch snapped her attention forward, noticing Fane approach her. Her face flushed red as she punched her fist in his direction. Nathalienne aimed her bow and strode forward, remaining a few paces behind Fane.

“You? It is you, isn’t it? You can hide that skull all you want, but I see you,” the witch sneered, pulling out an intricate bronzed mask with four faces from her tunic. “You’re the one that crafted this unholy contraption. Most artefacts like this mask are long lost, but you craft them anew. Who are you? _What_ are you?”

Fane ignored her question and reversed it. “Who I am is of no concern to you. Who are you? Who is this ‘Lord’ of yours?”

The witch opened her mouth, ready to speak. Her face drooped, the tendrils around her wrists tightened and pulled upwards and the darkness around her spread. Her eyes went black, and the darkness began to take shape around her, but Nathalienne had no idea what the shape exactly was. All she could say is that it was truly monstrous.

“Fane.” the witch’s mouth moved but the voice that escaped was not hers. This voice was of a man, it was the shadow that enveloped her, it was the puppeteer. Nathalienne could feel her body tremble, the entity that spoke left a horrible chill down her spine. “The traitor shall be destroyed.”

Nathalienne stared, not at the witch, but at the shadow looming over her. The nothingness that spread through her mind was not a welcomed silence. It was emptiness, it was pure darkness, it was the Void. Lifeless black eyes locked onto hers, blinking once. “You...” the voice called to her. “You can see me.”

The witch’s eyes cleared, the tendrils going slack and the shadow vanished. Turning her head to the heavens once more, the woman smiled. “I offer this sacrifice to you. Return me to your side. Make me whole!” her hands ignited and glowed orange, a ball of flame slowly grew between her palms until she shot them outwards, sending the fireball at Fane.

Nathalienne leapt, intercepting Fane from the trajectory of the fireball and knocked him to the ground. The flame passed over them, the heat strong enough to burn her skin despite it not touching her. She grabbed her bow, quickly getting off of Fane and firing an arrow at the witch. The woman waved her hand, batting the arrow away as if it were a pesky fly. Thrusting her hands out, the witch blasted another pulse of fire, hitting Nathalienne square in the chest and launching her backwards. Fire singed through her chest piece, burning and blistering the flesh underneath. Her back smacked against water as she landed in the shallows of the sea. With the wind knocked out of her, she struggled to find breath.

_Source...Use Source..._

The elf shot her eyes open and scrambled to her feet, disoriented from being struck with fire. Her bow was lost, her vision blurry, her equilibrium gone. In the distance, she could see all of her companions taking on the witch, but she couldn’t see how they were faring.

_You must use Source, Nathalienne..._

Her head shot in all directions, searching for the owner of the disembodied voice, but she found nothing. “I can’t use Source!” she shot in frustration, her fingers touching the collar around her neck. Hurrying to find her bow, she tried to ignore the voice in her head, but it remained persistent.

_Focus...Pool your energy, focus your power...Pull it from your body!_

Almost driven by a compulsion to obey, Nathalienne stopped searching for her weapon. Mechanically her hands reached for the collar, the smooth surface humming against her fingertips. She could feel her Source pooling in her core, fighting for freedom, only to be muted by the collar.

_My chosen, you were born for this...prove to me your worth._

A rush of power struck her like a bolt of lightning, power that was loaned, power that controlled. Her Source surged, furiously pulsing through her veins and tingling against her skin. The tingle became a burn, a burn that threatened to consume her alive and reduce her to ash if she did not comply to its demands. Freedom. Her hands gripped her collar, scalding hot and searing her palms. A scream escaped her throat, the burn turned to agony. Pulling at the collar, the device snapped as if it were a toothpick.

* * *

The witch was persistent, weaving spell after spell, not letting any of them get a hit in. Fane did what he could to combat her magic with his own, but with this damned collar, he could only tap into a fraction of the power he normally had access too. Of course, there was hardly anything he could do about it now. Snapping his bony fingers, flames ignited and formed into a perfect sphere. Fane launched the fireball forward, finally landing a hit on the witch while her back was turned. It seemed the only way to actually get ahead in combat was to have her distracted, and The Red Prince and Sebille were perfect fodder. Nathalienne had been launched back some time ago. She was probably dead, a pity, but not much of a surprise. Creatures like his companions were so prone to death.

The witch cast another spell, her focus turned back to him. He was her target. The others were merely pawns that got in her way. He could see it in the way she fought, in the way that she always tried to reach him. Her Lord called him ‘traitor,’ her Lord knew him...the notion only gave him more questions than answers. How was he the one they called traitor? He didn’t know this woman, and he certainly didn’t know her Lord. Fane blocked the woman’s attack, hurrying to cast another spell.

A scream pierced the sky, a scream that could have burst his eardrums, if he’d had any. The Red Prince, Sebille and the witch covered their ears, their faces contorting as though the pitch and frequency of the scream caused them pain. The witch suddenly let out a raspy croak, her dark, haggard eyes staring right past him, wide and in shock. Fane pivoted his body, keeping the witch in his peripherals while observing the source of the ear-splitting wail. The telltale green glow of Source blasted outwards, taking form of a bolt of raw energy, a beam that had impaled the witch where she stood. He could hear her insides sizzle and pop, her hands burned as they grabbed the beam of Source in some attempt to pull it out.

Fane cast his gaze along the humming burst of Source, finding Nathalienne, collarless and entranced. Source spread from her veins, glowing bright and green under her skin, all meeting at the apex of her palm where she had channelled it into a lance. Her eyes were glazed over and white, glowing veins spread around her eyes and down her cheeks. The skeleton observed her with interest, watching her eyes regain colour and the glow of her Source recede to the sable tone of her flesh. The poor girl had the face of a doe in a trap and no awareness of it. Her chest rose and fell heavily in exhaustion, she didn’t even have the chance to fully come to before The Red Prince began berating her.

“Are you completely out of your mind elf? Or are you just incredulously stupid?!” the lizard snapped.

“She killed the witch,” Sebille protested, shooting a glare. “I know you just love to puff out your chest and be an authoritative dick every chance you talk to an elf, but it may do you well to show some restraint.”

“I’ll credit your lack of intelligence to you being a slave! Your kin’s little display of Source could have had us surrounded by Voidwoken! She could have made the situation a thousand times worse by acting so rash! We need strategy and we need to use caution with Source!”

Sebille clutched her daggers firmly. “Call me slave again snake-face and I’ll wear your skin as a coat!”

Fane pressed two fingers against his skull in annoyance. Listening to them argue was giving him a migraine. He was certain The Red Prince only started these bickerments to stroke his ego, though he supposed he did have a point about attracting Voidwoken. “Are neither of you in the least bit curious how she removed her collar? Or did that point miss you entirely?” Fane cut through the argument, lest it escalate further. What did it matter now anyways? The witch was dead and no Voidwoken were drawn to the Source. Fighting over trivial matters of what could have happened were completely pointless.

Nathalienne remained silent, still, staring blankly ahead with her lips moving but no sound escaping them. How did she manage to remove her collar? Not even he could summon enough power to break these mechanisms, and yet she, a mortal, somehow managed it. There had to be some explanation to it. Fane stepped closer, examining the elf closely as she mouthed silent words. She was a fascinating subject, one he found intriguing to document, given her mystic nature. He’d already managed to fill a few pages of notes about how she interacted with the world around her, it was unique and yet similar to the others of her kind that he’d observed. At least she wasn’t entirely boring.

Cautiously, Fane grabbed her shoulder, watching awareness flood back into her eyes. She blinked once, her body trembling, her eyes fixed on him with an expression he could best describe as a cross of relief and shock. This was the second time he’d managed to pull her out of a trance, perhaps even the third, he would have to check his notes to confirm it. Regardless, further study was needed before he could draw any conclusions. Now that she was back to herself, he commenced his questions. “Do you know what happened?”

The elf shook her head, tracing her fingers across her bare neck, realizing the collar was gone.   
“Something...someone...they told me how to take it off...I think...it’s all...fuzzy...”

“Hmm, and I don’t suppose you have any recollection how to take these collars off?” The Red Prince interrupted, sheathing his blade and moving towards them.

“I...I don’t...feel...” her eyes rolled back and her body went limp, falling unconscious. Fane caught her as she collapsed down, awkwardly looking to The Red Prince at his side.

The lizard rolled his eyes, taking the elf from his arms and hoisting her over his shoulder. “She’s incredibly lucky that she owes me a debt or I’d be content to leave her,” he scoffed, pivoting on his heel and turning back towards the marshes. “We’d best be moving. We have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall, if we’re lucky, we’ll find this safe haven before the sun sets.”

Fane nodded, turning to the witch’s corpse. There was one thing he needed before they left. His mask. That damned witch caused him a great ordeal of trouble by stealing it. It was a relief to be able to traverse the land without the local rabble chasing him with pitchforks and torches. Placing the bronzed mask over his skull, flesh instantly formed around his bones, taking the shape of the first mortal he came across, the mortal who unearthed his tomb. Blinking with borrowed eyes and adjusting to the stretchy pull of muscles and sinew, Fane faced his companions and followed them into the marshes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took waaaaaaay longer than I anticipated, but it's finally published! Real life coupled with Animal Crossing and Dragon Age kinda took my focus away from writing. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long. I am very happy that I finally finished the chapter and look forward to hearing what you think. As usual, please leave a like/comment if you're enjoying the story. See you next chapter :)


	12. Gareth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Death runs into other Sourcerers. Nathalienne meets Gareth

The air was humming with Source. Despite the collar, The Black Death could still see the remnants crackling over the corpse of a frigid old woman. He knew her face, she was the witch who destroyed the ship. Scraping his claws together, he puzzled over the scene, flicking his tongue and smelling the air. The Source blocked out almost every other smell, it was difficult to get a track on anything else.

“You know this woman?” Ifan put a hand on his shoulder, getting the lizard’s attention.

“She sank the ship. Had enough Source to summon a kraken and kill most of the passengers...”

“And you’re wondering who managed to get the advantage to kill her?” the marksman finished his sentence, scanning over the withered corpse then pointing to sets of tracks moving back into the marsh. “I’m guessing they went off that way,” Ifan continued, crouching down to examine the footprints.

“You think they were Reds?” Beast questioned, crossing his arms and waiting for Ifan’s judgement. The human had become the unspoken leader of their little group, and he was quite the efficient leader at that.

Ifan shook his head. “Doubtful. This is too random for the Divine Order. You see the tracks around the beach? The fight wasn’t strategized, not to mention there aren’t many lizards and elves in Lucian’s army.”

“Not many doesn’t mean non-existent mate.”

“I fought in Lucian’s army; I know how Magisters fight. This isn’t it. There wouldn’t be a Magister alive that would use a cheap bow like the one right next to you. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have use for a broken collar either.”

The Black Death raised his brow, impressed. Taking a look around the scene, he quickly noticed a charred whitewood bow and a Source collar, snapped in two. He wondered how long Ifan had known about these items discarded in the sand. The marksman had a good eye, or so it seemed.

“Alright boy, y’made yer point!” Beast rolled his eye and crossed his arms.

Tapping a claw to his temple, The Black Death silently assessed the situation, knowing they could not linger for long. The beach was out in the open, and it was clear that Magisters were patrolling the area, judging by their corpses scattered within the marsh. “Let’s follow the tracks,” he said, wanting to get a move on while they still had daylight on their side.

Ifan scouted ahead, keeping his crossbow trained ahead of him. The Black Death took position next to him, signalling for Beast to keep an eye out for enemies coming up behind them, while Lohse stayed between them. Mosquitos buzzed around his head, constantly looking for places to rest and feast. The only noise accompanying their footfalls were the slaps of their hands upon the tiny bloodsucking vermin that swarmed around them. Magister corpses seemed to multiply as they moved deeper into the swamp, this didn’t seem normal. Del had said that there wasn’t enough of a resistance to stage a coup, and aside from himself and a few handfuls of Sourcerers, there weren’t many escapees that could accomplish this. Something else was responsible...and that had The Black Death on edge.

“Keep your eyes sharp,” he told Ifan, watching every flicker of movement in the dense marshland. They were being watched; he could feel it. The brush rustled, twigs snapped, and shadows darted through the trees. “We’re being followed,” he whispered so only Ifan could hear, looking back to Lohse and Beast and giving them a silent stare, informing them to keep their wits about them.

“There’s cliffside just up ahead, if we lure them into the open, we can flank them,” Ifan explained, his voice barely audible. He then whipped around, shooting his crossbow into the brush behind them, sending an arrow straight into the bark of an old tree. Birds flocked away from their nests and Ifan bolted forward towards the clearing by the cliffside. The Black Death followed with Beast and Lohse on either side of him. Suddenly, Ifan slid to a sudden stop. The clearing was already occupied.

The Black Death had his sword ready, his eyes wide at the sight of a gang of undead. This was unnatural. Skeletons were not supposed to be up and walking around! Standing on the high ground, a skeletal dwarf clacked her jaw. Within the clearing were four other undead of dwarves and humans.

“We leave corpses to warn you away, but still you intrude on our rest. Was I ever so stupid when I wore flesh? No matter, our master was clear: none shall pass,” the dwarf spoke, her voice irate and annoyed. The Black Death raised his blade but Ifan stretched an arm out.

“What Master? Who in the hells are you talking about?”

“Oh sweet thing. If you think I’ll spill the tale just ‘cause you asked pretty, you’ll be disappointed in this life and the next,” she mocked, reaching for her bow.

“Just a thought Ifan,” The Black Death grit his teeth, and brought his shield forward. “Instead of trying to talk to living dead things, just kill them!” he snarled and tossed his shield forward, bashing two skeletons into nothing but dismembered piles of bones.

“You clearly haven’t met any decent undead,” Ifan half smiled, firing his crossbow, the bolt sailing through the air straight towards the undead dwarf on the cliff and taking her out with a single headshot.

The remaining two undead charged. The Black Death readied his sword, anticipating the fight. He’d crush their bones into dust. Unfortunately for him, his itch for battle was denied. As the charging skeletons advanced, they were sideswiped by a massive boulder, crushing them into the cliff. The lizard whipped his head in the direction the boulder flew from, then turned to Lohse. “Was that you?” he barked, keeping his blade ready.

Lohse shook her head. “I was ready to zap ‘em, I’m as lost as you here.”

“Come out!” The Black Death barked, pounding on his chest with his blade, letting the metal clang echo through the clearing.

“I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER SALAMANDER! YOUR DIVINE ORDER WILL NOT TAKE ME ALIVE” a voice boomed from the trees. _Divine Order_? What in the hells was he on about? “EAT BOULDER!” The earth cracked and another rock came barrelling forward.

“GET DOWN!” The lizard clotheslined Lohse with with his arm, pinning her to the ground just as the boulder flung over them. Thanks to Beast’s stature, he was in no danger and Ifan hit the ground just as quickly as the others, his expression equal parts confused and agitated.

“That idiot must think we’re Magisters” Ifan snarled, his canines appearing much sharper than before.

“Why in the shit would he think that?!” Lohse grunted, rubbing her chest.

“I’d say it’d have something t’do with us decked out in Red garb!” Beast rolled his eyes, offering a hand to the woman. “Y’alright lass?”

“I’m good, just got clotheslined in the tits, nothing serious,” she looked at The Black Death, a little spitefully, as if he hadn’t just saved her from being crushed and splattered on the ground. He ignored her remark, and rose to his feet, sticking his finger under his collar, he tugged it a bit, hoping whomever was attacking him could see it.

“We’re not Magisters!” Ifan shot, his voice echoing into the trees.

The bushes rustled and within a few seconds a woman, stepped from the safety of the brush. It definitely wasn’t what he was expecting. The voice certainly didn’t sound like a woman. She glared at them fiercely, her eyes dark and tired. Her black hair was messily pulled into a braid, with many strands hanging free around her face. Her dark-tanned skin had an array of cuts and scars, and most noticeably, a Source collar was clasped around her neck. She pointed a spear at them as she glanced them over, her eyes fixing on the collars that they all wore. “It’s dangerous to be wearing Magister colours here. Makes you a walking target,” she raised a brow, her voice was certainly not the same as the one that boomed at them from the forest. “If the undead don’t kill you, the Seekers might.”

A heavily armoured dwarf hustled out of the woods. No part of his face could be seen beneath his helm and the armour looked heavy enough to crush him. “A thousand pardons,” he bowed his head. “I am the Gallant Ser Humphrey Bronn, former Royal Guard to The Dwarven Queen,” he boasted, his voice gallivant and boastful. “And this is my sister, The Lady Gueneviere.”

The four Sourcerers collectively raised a brow. The woman was clearly human, it wasn’t often heard of for dwarves to adopt outside of their own, but then again, The Black Death adopted an elf child, so anything was possible. Beast stepped forward, his arms crossed, his expression unimpressed. “Royal Guard?” he repeated, his teeth clenched. “You serve Justinia?”

“Served. Once I had devoted my life to Justinia, but the Queen betrayed me! Clubbed me right in the skull and left me for dead! Banished my dear sister and stripped her of her titles! As if poor Guen didn’t have it hard enough being so abnormally large and mutated, now she must live in destitute!” the dwarf continued melodramatically. He was completely mad! The Black Death narrowed his brow, unsure how to deal with this. The woman, whom he presumed was Guen, seemed as equally perplexed as the rest of them but said nothing. Beast calmed significantly, his posture relaxed, and he shrugged his shoulders.

Mounting his crossbow up over his shoulder, Ifan began to search for answers. “Gueneviere mentioned Seekers. Who are they? What do they do?”

“Just what it sounds like. They seek. They help people like us, keep us alive, away from the Magisters. There’s a camp not far from here,” Gueneviere answered, pulling her spear back.

“Have you come across an elf at this camp?” The Black Death took the opportunity to question the woman.

“Just Jules, the poor bastard is halfway to the Hall by now. Other than him, I haven’t seen any elves, but new Sourcerers come daily. We can take you there. It’s the safest place a Sourcerer can be right now.”

“Pish posh sister!” Ser Humphrey cut in, pounding his chest with bravado. We must find Ser Gareth! We made an oath to return him post haste, lest the resistance falter!”

Guen half smiled, reaching into her armour and pulling out a piece of parchment. She opened it up, showing a detailed map of the marshes with one big red X on the far side. “Head to that camp there. Stay away from the ruins to the north. The Magisters have Shriekers there.”

“And what’s a Shrieker?” Ifan questioned as Guen folded up the map and handed it to him.

“I don’t really know what they are. Gareth said they used to be Sourcerers. The Magisters tortured and crucified them, probably did a whole bunch of wretched things to them. Whatever they did, all those Shriekers need to do is look at you and you’re dead. Best to keep your distance,” she gave them a long look before returning to Ser Humphrey’s side and heading in the opposite direction they came from. “We’ll see you at camp...if you live long enough!”

With that, they were gone, leaving The Black Death and his company to continue wandering the swamp. The lizard kept his eyes sharp for more undead, while Ifan picked up the trail. This trail was the only lead he had to Nat, and there was a good chance it would lead to nothing but a dead end. But if an elf was within the group of Sourcerers they were tracking, then there was still hope it was her. It was the only thing he had left.

_Kin…child of the desert suns… come to me_

He snarled, jutting his sword in front of him, rage set into his soul. The Black Death knew that voice. She was the one that took him from his family, the one that brought him back. His sudden reaction caused his companions to stare at him as if he’d lost his senses. “Didn’t you hear that?!” he snapped, his eyes aglow in fury. His companions all shook their heads in unison, they must have thought he’d gone mad. “Forget it! Just keep moving!” he grumbled, swinging his sword through the trees, violently hacking away branches. His heart raced, his blood ran hot in his veins and his jaw clenched.

With his mood now soured, The Black Death stormed through the marshland, not stopping until the sun had vanished beneath the horizon.

* * *

_Come from fog bound for clear skies. Find me elf child. Find me._

Nathalienne’s eyes shot open and a breath caught in her throat. She took in her surroundings: Dark marshland, grass between her fingers, starlight in the sky above...she was ...

“She’s awake!” Trice yelled, falling to her hands and knees directly over Nathalienne’s face, causing her to jump. “The lizard said you took your collar off! Can you take mine off? How did you do it?” the child bombarded her with questions and all Nathalienne could do was stare blankly at the child.

“Shhh!” The Red Prince shushed the girl, glowering at her with such intimidation, even Nathalienne wanted to retreat further into the ground. “Godsdammit brat! Have you no concept of speaking quietly?”

Trice’s expression looked like she was about to cry. The Red Prince rolled his eyes in clear annoyance and shooed the child off with a flick of the wrist. Trice moved away, sitting near Sebille by the makeshift fire pit in the centre of what appeared to be a camp they set up while she was out of it. Nathalienne sat up, still disoriented, her expression confused. “What...” she held a hand to her head, trying to recall what happened before she blacked out. “What happened?”

“You removed your collar and killed the witch!” Trice beamed, as if she weren’t just scolded a moment ago.

Tracing her fingers along her bare neck, she felt the creases in her skin from where the collar once pressed. Inhaling, she silently absorbed everything around her, listening to the frogs croak and the crickets chirp. It was strangely peaceful, especially knowing this marsh was overrun with undead. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Sebille stated, shifting in her seat to move away from Trice. “Since you seem well rested, you can have first watch,” she smirked coyly with a wink and sauntered away. 

Nathalienne glanced around the camp, brushing stray strands of hair from her face and rose to her feet. “I’ll scout the perimeter,” she informed, searching the area for her bow...the one she dropped when she was fighting the witch. “Shit!”

“What is it?” The Red Prince rose a brow, rolling his shoulders back as he stripped off his chest piece.

“My bow. I lost it in the fight.”

“There’s a man up ahead I need to speak to, I’m sure I can _negotiate_ and get you what you need,” Sebille glanced behind her, pointing ahead in the darkness. “Feel free to come along if you like.”

Nathalienne clenched her teeth, unsure if she really wanted to witness Sebille ‘interrogate’ anybody, however, she relented and followed. As she followed Sebille into a mass of shadows, the mass began to take the shape of a tree, the branches hanging low and creaking in the breeze. She felt cold, uneasy. Whispers faintly spoke in her ear but she could not make sense of their words. As they drew nearer, Nathalienne could make shape of a figure clad in old, blackened armour.

The whispers got louder but nothing coherent could be gained from it. She stood back, hardly having a moment to intervene before Sebille confronted the shrouded figure. She was almost certain a fight would break, with Sebille it was almost a guarantee. Nathalienne heard a hiss, one that was not a fragment of some disembodied soul trying to tell her something. No, the hiss came from the armoured being, and it told her she needed to intervene before blood was spilled. However, much to her surprise, Sebille seemed to coax the information out of him. He spoke. She listened.

“His name!” Sebille insisted, loud enough for her to hear.

“Roost,” The man croaked, and with that Sebille turned around, heading back in the direction of the camp, her face hard and pale. Nathalienne did not fail to notice a bow in her kin’s hand, she didn’t even see her grab it.

“Come, let’s go. I have what I came for,” she tossed Nathalienne the bow, her face clearly distraught.

“Are you okay?”

“I found out who abducted me; who delivered me to the Master...I’m going to find the man who did that. And we’re going to get mightily re-acquainted.”

The young elf remained silent, not knowing what she could possibly say to make things better. She had seen the things Sebille had to endure, she knew there was nothing she could say to console her. The best she could do was stay out of her way and make sure she got to _Roost._ Slinging her new bow over her shoulders, Nathalienne split from Sebille once they arrived back at camp. The whispers in her head went quiet, they grew fainter and fainter the further away they walked from the shrouded man. She wasn’t sure what was more unsettling, the voices of the dead or the silence.

_Walk to me…walk with purpose…I am near._

Her eyes went wide, feeling the breath of the disembodied voice against her ear. Nathalienne pivoted on her foot, turning in the opposite direction and finding nothing but darkness. A short breath escaped her lips, her eyes focused forward, staring into nothingness. That voice spoke to her before, it helped her take off her collar. Now it seemed it wanted something in return from her. Nathalienne shook her head and took a firm grip on her new bow. She was supposed to be scouting, not staring aimlessly in hopes whatever entity was talking to her now would actually show itself. She continued away from the camp, keeping her bow at the ready and allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark.

Shadows loomed over the marsh. Crooked trees hung their branches low and stretched far, blocking out any light the moon may have had to offer. The dreaded silence was haunting, whatever lurked in this marsh was something she had no desire to encounter. The entire aura of this place had her on edge. She moved silently, weaving between the trees, her feet barely touching the ground.

_Snap!_

The elf moved in an instant, an arrow lined in her bow, a shot ready. Her ears perked, listening to the twigs and branches snap under a heavy footfall. Nathalienne backed into a tree, using the trunk for cover, and sneaking around to investigate further. Dim torchlight shone in the distance; faint voices accompanied the movement. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, Nathalienne wrapped her arms around a low hanging bough of the tree she stood against and hoisted herself up. She climbed higher, perching herself high in the branches, concealed in the leaves as she spied.

The torchlight drew closer, the voices became louder, loud enough that she could make them out.

“We must make haste Ser Gareth! The undead are everywhere! We must be vigilant!” a man’s voice boomed, far too loudly to not draw attention towards them.

“Shut up! The man just took an arrow in the side!” a woman shot back in a violent whisper. “We’re moving as fast as we can!”

Nathalienne leaned forward, the figures who spoke were directly below her. The injured man, whom she assumed was Gareth leaned on the woman with his arm slung over her shoulder. A few paces ahead, she saw a dwarf making dramatic gestures for them to pick up their pace. She carefully adjusted her footing, her eyes never leaving the three people on the ground. They didn’t look like Magisters, she was pretty sure the woman was wearing a collar, but she couldn’t be certain in this light.

A cold wind rustled through the leaves and an unsettling silence nestled in the landscape. The ones below her still spoke but their voices were fading when they shouldn’t be. Nathalienne could hear her own heart racing inside her chest, and then…a gurgle, a low rumble of a beast, something…inhuman. Her skin shivered and tensed as she realized she was being hunted. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on her bow. She shifted, ever so slightly, and slowly reached behind to her quiver for an arrow. Her eyes never left the scene taking place below her, the muscles in her back squeezed together, every move she made had to be calculated.

She turned; her bow aimed. Her hunter was a Voidwoken, a cornucopia of teeth and claws, its skin wet and black with markings that glowed the same blue as its eyes. Its tail hung off the bough and swayed with impatience. It roared, lunging for her with a three-fingered, clawed hand. Nathalienne leapt from the tree, aiming her arrow to the lurking beast and firing. She heard another roar but had descended to the ground before she could see if her arrow hit.

All sounds within the marsh returned, and they were loud. She landed on her feet, crouched low and eye level with the dwarf she’d been watching. He wore heavy armour but through his helm, she could see nothing but blackened pits. The woman supporting Gareth stared at her with wide eyes and reached for her spear.

“Gueneviere,” Gareth stayed her hand, staring at Nathalienne intensely. The growls and angry rumbles of the Voidwoken got quieter, the trees and bushes rustled and then nothing.

“I think you injured it,” Gareth kept his gaze towards the treeline, his hand rested on his sword, but it never left its sheath. “Savage as the Voidwoken are, they are intelligent, they know when they are outmatched. Your courage in the face of danger is inspiring, my friend. Lucian guided your blows rightly!”

“Friend?” Gueneviere’s brow furrowed. “She’s not wearing a collar; she could be with the Magisters!”

The elf only breathed, clenching her hands into fists. “I’m a Sourcerer,” she exhaled, straightening her legs and standing up. “I could prove it to you but that might attract more than one Voidwoken, and judging from your friend’s shape, I doubt you’d want that.”

“A Sourcerer? And what, pray tell, is a Sourcerer doing in Fort Joy without a collar?” Guen’s dark eyes narrowed on her.

She knew no answer would satisfy the human before her, and honestly, she didn’t know how to answer her. Nathalienne had little to no understanding of how she removed her collar, or the entity that helped her do it. “I—”

Another rustle in the trees and the trio had their weapons ready, although Gareth was too injured to actually swing his sword, it didn’t stop him from drawing it. The dwarf pounded his chest and raised his axe. A few twigs and branches snapped as a man emerged from the brush, his face etched with annoyance. His brown hair was tied back messily, as though he’d only pulled it back in haste to get it out of his face. He stroked his neatly trimmed beard and stared at them, his brown eyes methodically scanning every detail of the scene before him. “Really?” he rolled his eyes; his voice and mannerisms immediately gave him away. “I would say I’m surprised that you’ve landed in another mess, except, well, this is rather typical for you,” he pulled a blue journal from his robes and began meticulously writing in it.

“Fane!” Nathalienne’s eyes went wide, staring at the undead who no longer looked the part. She stared; her mouth slightly agape before she came to her senses. “How did you know I was here?”

“I followed you. I saw you leaving camp to scout, I thought it an excellent opportunity to study you,” Fane explained dryly, as if only a complete idiot wouldn’t understand his reasoning.

Gueneviere shot her glance between the two, her harsh features relaxing when she spotted Fane’s collar. Gareth seemed to commend the woman silently and dropped his blade, clutching his wounded side. “We should go,” the woman insisted.

“You two shouldn’t stay either,” Gareth focused his attention to Nathalienne and Fane. “I’m a Seeker. And I can help you. We offer sanctuary to Sourcerers, come with us.”

“We’re travelling with others,” Nathalienne informed, swinging her bow over her shoulder and moving to Fane’s side. “There is a child with us too, we can’t leave them behind.”

“You are an honourable woman,” Gareth smiled at her with what appeared to be admiration. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of parchment. “The safe place is marked on this map. Friends await you there. Join us when you can, but I do not suggest you linger here long. What did Lucian say? Ah yes. ‘Evil feats on the indolent.’ Get yourself to safety, and soon. You’ll always have a place at the Seekers’ table.”

The elf nodded, watching the Seekers leave towards their haven. She then remained by Fane’s side as they travelled back in the direction of their camp. “So…” Nathalienne raised a brow, studying Fane’s new face with interest. “Before I fell unconscious, you didn’t have a face. I take it I missed a lot while I was out?”

“Well I wouldn’t say you missed much of anything. That haggard witch had my mask, I simply took back after you did me the pleasure of killing her.”

“Ah…” she chewed her lip and glanced away for a moment. “You…look nice – I mean, it’s a very convincing mask.

“Well of course it is. It was crafted with care. One hundred percent ethically harvested from mortals too. The quality is second to none,” Fane explained, a bit boastfully.

Nathalienne raised a brow, her expression knit. “And pray tell, how exactly would one ‘ethically harvest’ a face?” her voice was laced with sarcasm, but Fane did not seem to pick up on it, or he simply didn’t care.

“Oh, you simply wait until the creature is dead. Preferably of natural causes. Although that does limit your choices somewhat. You may end up with quite a few sagging faces. I will never understand why you have so readily accepted aging. Or digestion. They are frightful pastimes.

“Eternals don’t age? Or…digest? What are your people? I mean, what were they like? How did they live?” the questions came one after the other. The more Fane spoke of his people, the more questions she had.

He chuckled, like an adult would chuckle at a child’s curious mind. “Ah, this is perhaps the first intelligent question you have asked! After all, one should always try to learn from one’s betters.”

Her lips pursed, her teeth clamped onto her tongue and her brows lifted. She stared at him with irritation before slapping on an obviously fake smile. “Of course. That’s _exactly_ what I’m doing.”

“My people are a race far beyond anything that exists in the world today. We seek to master the secrets of the universe. We craft wonders to last through the ages long after your crude tools have rusted to nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Nathalienne was seeping sarcasm from her pores. “If these ‘wonders’ are built to last for so long, then, where are they?” she gestured around the empty marshland.

Fane’s expression dropped; his eyes fixed on the ground. “I-...I do not know. There are rumours that some have been found at the Blackpits – an oilfield at Reaper’s Coast. I was trying to uncover the truth when I was waylaid by Magisters. But wherever the artefacts of my people are, I will find them. We have not simply vanished into thin air.”

A surge of guilt nestled in her stomach. She felt like an ass. Taking his shoulder, she immediately felt the silence she always felt when she touched him. “I’m sorry,” she offered a consoling expression, her hand slid just below his shoulder and rested there for a few moments. It was a little different to feel flesh and muscle resting under his sleeve as opposed to bone, but the silence he provided her was…comforting, at least compared to the eerie silence the Voidwoken spread when it was near. However, the silence was as strangely similar as it was different.

Fane glanced at her hand, then to her, prompting her to remove it. Then, like a predictable habit, he pulled out his book and began to write away, completely oblivious to her existence. As the pair returned to camp, they said little else to one another until they were back around the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. It's been quite a long time! I had a bad case of writer's block. But I am back and inspired again! It may be a bit before I can get the next chapter out as I am back in school and parenting a toddler, but hopefully it won't be another 4 months!


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